


The Goldfinger Affair

by Redd2



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Can be interpreted as pre-slash - no more than the TV show., Pre-Cannon, gen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28119297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redd2/pseuds/Redd2
Summary: Tighten your seatbelt as you have the singular opportunity to witness adventure at its highest, thrill-seeking moment resulting in either triumph or utter catastrophe. Or both.
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

_To Whom It May Concern:_

__

_I write to you once again to offer another tale of the world of espionage and mystery. For this outing, I hope to entertain you all with a recounting from the early years of my career._  


__

_From the beginning, Agent Napoleon Solo was the consummate spy; darkly handsome, elegant, and oh yes, charming. But he was also cunning under pressure and a flawless strategist. He was the envy of everyone in the business. Myself included._  


__

_Ilya Nicklvitch Kuryakin was a different matter altogether. In those early years no intelligence could be discovered on him but by all accounts, he was found to be calculatingly efficient. Although his background and allegiance were a mystery, from bits of intel any of us had at hand, he had shown himself to be a fascinating combination of brilliant intellect and physical power – and gorgeous. Let’s don’t forget that. But KGB? Mercenary? Gun for Hire? No one knew for certain._  


__

_Our third character in this recounting, is indeed no less of an interesting figure than the first two mentioned. Auric Goldfinger. A genius, an indiscriminate cheat and an international menace with a cold hunger for power. I thought him cruel to those close to him and deadly to those who would cross him. Goldfinger – he treated people as his own private hunting ground. Oh yes - a nasty business ours is. Of course, his enemy is U.N.C.L.E. and many in our business, it was rumored, thought Agent Solo had met his match. The one point in this caper, the one twist was Kuryakin. In a world where opponents and allies change sides like shirts on a man’s back, where did he fit in._  


__

_Tighten your seatbelt as you have the singular opportunity to witness adventure at its highest, thrill-seeking moment resulting in either triumph or utter catastrophe. Or both._  


__

_Yours Truly,  
Redd_

**********

Goldfinger.  
He’s the man, the man with the Midas touch,  
A spider’s touch.  
Such a cold finger, you presume to enter his web of sin  
But don’t go in.

Golden words he will pour in your ear  
But his lies can’t disguise what you fear.  
For the golden one knows of the danger behind each kiss,  
It’s the kiss of death. 

From Mr. Goldfinger  
Pretty lover, beware of his heart of gold.  
His heart is cold. He loves only gold, only gold.

**********

#### Act I - _“Positively shocking.”_

The night was dark and silent at the wharf of a small town in Latin America. U.N.C.L.E. Agent Napoleon Solo, wearing scuba gear, rose carefully out of the water and up onto the dock. Quietly he shot a rope anchor over the roof of a nearby building. Easily making the shot he climbed up the wall. Quickly he overcame the lone Thrush guard and moved on. Coming upon the first of several large silos, he flipped a wire and opened a secret doorway. Turning on the overhead light, revealed a storage warehouse complete with boxes, crates, and sizable barrels with the words _‘Nitro’_ printed on them. He quietly moved out into the room, his tight-fitting wet suit showing off his trim, masculine body. Quickly he squeezed out a chemical paste onto each barrel. Opening the sealed backpack, he carried, he removed a timer. He checked his watch and set the trigger before attaching it to the paste. Immediately Solo skipped jauntily across the room to the door and exited, politely remembering to turn off the light. 

Solo swiftly left the roof and slid down the rope to the ground below whereby he stripped off his slinky wet suit revealing a pristine white tuxedo underneath. He stopped to add a red carnation to the lapel as he checked the surrounding area for trouble. Finding none, he walked away.

**********

The Cantina was alive with music, many noisy customers, and a beautiful dancing girl. Solo entered and appreciatively checked out the scenery. Just as he looked at his watch, the room shook with an earth-shattering explosion. All the patrons panicked as the ceiling of the small Cantina shuddered and dust fell. Screaming, many rushed for the safety of outside.  
Solo approached an unusually calm man at the bar who said to him, “Congratulations senior.”  
“Thank you, Diego” Solo replied, leaning casually against the bar.  
“Mr. Ramirez and his friends, it seems, will be out of business.”  
“At least he won’t be using nitro flavored bombs to finance his revolutions.” Solo noticed the sexy dancing girl leave for a back room, disappointed at losing her audience.  
“Don’t go back to your hotel, senior. They’ll be watching for you. There is a plane leaving for Miami Beach in an hour.”  
“I’ll be on it but first I have some unfinished business to attend to.”

The dancing girl had disrobed and was enjoying a deep soak in the tub in her apartment above the Cantina. Suggestively casual, Solo entered. Without conversation, he handed the dancer a towel and moved away to hang up his jacket. The woman rose from the soak and moved into the arms of the dark agent, a deep kiss followed – both forgetting her wetness and his now wet clothes.  
“Owww!” The woman jumped back as the man’s gun and holster pinched her bare skin. Looking down at the offending tool of his trade, Solo soon removed said irritant and hung the offending gun next to his jacket. “Forgive me, my dear.”  
“Why do you always wear that thing with me?”  
“Ah, I have a slight inferiority complex. Now where was I?” Eyeing the barely covered woman, her female charms very apparent, Solo smiled and returned to her arms. “Ohhh yes.”

As the kiss deepened, a heavy-set thug quietly moved out from behind an armoire at the rear of the room. The woman saw the approach but gave no warning – Solo, his back turned, gave no notice. The man crept closer, murder in his eyes and a heavy lead pipe in his hand.  
Solo released the kiss only to notice the image of the intruder within the reflection in the woman’s eye. Instantly he spun around pushing the woman into the path of the pipe, rendering her unconscious. Thwarted, the murderer attacked again only to meet the force of Solo’s fist on his jaw, throwing him across the room. Quickly the man grabbed a chair and crashed it over Solo’s bent head. He took advantage of the agent’s daze and smashed him with his fist. On the third punch, Solo grabbed the man’s arm and, using the momentum, tossed him over his head. The man landed in the still full tub but quickly reached up to grab Solo’s nearby gun. Now worried, Solo expertly knocked a nearby table lamp into the tub – resulting in deadly electrocution.  
Solo took back his gun and, while returning it to his holster, he tsked over the body. “Shocking.”

The woman moaned as she slowly stirred but received no consideration from the urbane agent. “Positively shocking,” Solo said as he opened the door and made his exit.

**********


	2. Chapter 2

#### Act II - _“And what about our Russian friends?”_

Miami Beach; land of sun, the idle rich, and beautiful people. Among the many luxurious hotels along the ocean coast line was an exclusive villa for only the best people. The five-star hotel was laid out in Mediterranean motif and the service was impeccable. At poolside an older man in a dark business suit, very out of step with the surrounding dress code, was searching the crowd. By the cabanas, he noticed a shatteringly gorgeous woman leaning over a very familiar figure, stretched out flat on a chaise lounge.  
“How does this feel?” cooed a delightfully female voice – she was not much of a conversationalist but had great hands.  
“Nice, very nice,” replied Napoleon Solo face down, the beautiful blond woman massaging his back.  
“Here?”  
“No, a little lower, me dar’lin. Ahh yes, perfect.”

“I thought I’d find you in good hands.”  
Solo turned abruptly to see who would interrupt the wonderful state he was in. He smiled in recognition, “Felix!”  
Shirtless, wearing only bathing shorts, Napoleon’s athletic body rose with a fluidly of someone in very healthy physical shape. The charming young woman rose also, smiling and graceful.  
Napoleon called, “Felix, how are you? Dink meet Felix Lieder.”  
“Hello,” The woman smiled her greeting.  
“Felix say ‘hello’ to Dink.”  
“Hello Dink.” Felix’s grin widened appreciatively.  
“Dink say ‘goodbye’ to Felix.”  
“Really?” Dink was confused by the sudden switch but Napoleon was firm as he moved her off.  
“Man talk, me dar’lin. Now off you go.” He patted her pert rump as she obediently moved away. Napoleon forgot her as soon as she left, never one to attach himself to one of his play toys for very long.

The two men moved back into a cabana, away from the main stream of people around the pool.  
Referring to the near miss of the last mission and the bruises showing on the other man, Felix cautioned “You must be slipping Napoleon, to be letting the opposition get that close to you. Electrocution, really.”  
“Well, they got a lot closer in Jamaica didn’t they?”  
“That is something a partner would prevent.”

Napoleon froze – the old argument. “I’m the only one I trust so I always work alone.” He quickly changing the topic to let the argument go, and asked “What’s on your mind, Felix? I’m on holiday.”  
“Not any more you’re not. A message from New York.”

“I might have known Mr. Waverly wouldn’t have booked me into the best hotel in Miami Beach out of pure gratitude.” Solo easily slipped into a powder blue beach cover that left his tanned muscular legs free but covered his upper body. He took the communication from Felix. U.N.C.L.E. had been working on developing a personal communication device but had yet to have a working model.  
“He asked us to keep an eye on the target for you.”

Napoleon read the note, “The target? Auric Goldfinger? Sounds like a French nail varnish.”  
Felix shook his head, “He’s Russian but he doesn’t have the accent. Big operator, world wide interests all apparently quite reputable. He even owns one of the finest stud farms in the states.”

Napoleon paused, wondering if Felix was serious. “What’s the word out from Washington?”  
“He’s clean as far as the CIA is concerned. But we know he’s Thrush.”  
“And what about our Russian friends?”  
Felix smirked, “Yeah well, they haven’t responded to our queries yet.”  
Napoleon nodded understanding. The Russians weren’t always cooperative but he wondered what they had on their fellow compatriot. “And where will I find our Mr. Goldfinger?”  
Felix pointed back over to the pool.

A handsome, if not a bit heavy, older man moved down the main staircase to the lower pool area. His demeanor said command in his every step, his attire was perfect in every detail and spoke of a very vain ego. He wore expensive casual linen pants and shirt – all with gold trim. His bald head was covered in a dashing hat from older, more gracious days worn in a rakish tilt. But there was a cruelty to his movement as he walked among the crowd and he ignored all but his destination – a business man sitting alone at a nearby table. 

Napoleon watched and took in the sight of the golden man. Felix pointed to the other man seated at the nearby table; older, graying at the temples with evidence of dye that bespoke of a weakness of character. “That’s his pigeon waiting for him now. Goldfinger’s been taking him to the cleaners every day for a week.”

Goldfinger approached the seated pigeon and rubbed his hands together. He spoke with a polished grammar, merely a trace of an accent only a good ear would pick up. “Good morning Mr. Zimmer. Ready for our little game?”  
“Sure, I’m ready. When you’re Ten Grand in the hole, you’re ready for anything.”  
Goldfinger stalled by the table, his tone losing its friendliness, “No! I must have my usual seat!”  
Zimmer responded to the small change in attitude and quickly gave up the chair he was in, “Sure, sure. Why not.”

Watching, Felix whispered to Napoleon. “That Goldfinger is a sharp card player but he is unpredictable and highly dangerous. Zimmer is a rich industrialist. He makes lasers – Goldfinger’s new hobby. I hear he likes to burn things. But if this losing streak keeps up, soon our Thrush friend will have a controlling interest in the production company.”

Goldfinger settled into his seat, the friendliness returning full force. “Same stakes, my friend?”  
“Let’s double it.”  
“$100 a point?” Goldfinger paused. Almost as an afterthought, he dipped his hand in his pocket and seemed to adjust his hearing aid control box. “Did you say $100?”  
“My luck’s got to change sometime,” the pigeon responded nervously.  
“Of course. Very well.”

“Well Solo, I’ll get back to the office and contact Waverly that you’re on the job, shall I?”  
Solo had already begun to move towards his target as he muttered, “You can fill me in on the rest at dinner tonight.”  
“Fine. I’ll see you later.”

Drawn to the magnetic manner of Goldfinger, Solo watched the two men play cards. Nonchalantly, he moved closer to the table to listen in. He watched as Goldfinger played confidently, with bold aggressiveness and tightly controlled assurance. It was the assurance that puzzled Solo. Such assurance during a game of chance didn’t seem natural. He gazed up at the surrounding hotel balconies, thinking through the puzzlement when a bright light caught his eye.  
“Four and gin.”  
“So soon?”  
“How many?”  
Zimmer, filled with frustration, counted out his points. “Forty-four.” Goldfinger laughed. Solo saw that the amusement did not reach the bald man’s eyes. He noticed he had the eyes of a shark, a killer shark.

**********

Napoleon entered the hotel and went to one of the upper floors above the pool area. He gently caught the arm of a maid walking down the hall, “Miss?”  
With easy familiarity he caught the keys dangling from her waist and moved over to one door in particular.

“Here, what are you doing?” she asked, too taken with the handsome guest to complain too much.  
Napoleon smoothly used the pass-key to unlock the door.  
“But that’s Mr. Goldfinger’s suite,” she squeaked.  
Napoleon smiled, “Yes I know. And you’re very sweet.” Leaving the maid, in he went.

Shutting the door noiselessly and pulling out his hidden gun, Solo moved quietly through the suite of rooms. Very luxurious.

“He just drew the king of clubs.” Solo heard a husky voice with a slight accent and followed it. “That makes his count fifty-nine. He’s got a diamond run; eight, nine, ten.” The voice was coming from the balcony. 

A man was reclined near the edge of the balcony, his blonde hair golden in the sunlight, his body muscled and stretched out on a deck lounge – tight linen pants, bare back, bare feet.  
“He’s holding on to the six of spades so I presume he thinks you want it. That last draw was the eight of hearts.” The golden man was intent on looking through a telescope and did not notice Solo as he moved up behind him. He was talking in a radio microphone. Watching, Solo drew an evil grin.

“He needs kings and queens…” Solo reached over and switched off the transmitter. The blonde reacted with incredible stealth and power turning over quickly – like a professional. Solo was impressed. However, stopping in mid-action, the man did not miss the gun in Solo’s hand pointed directly at his bare stomach.  
“I presume you are not the maid.” the accented voice said calmly.  
“Name’s Solo. Napoleon Solo.” Casually Solo tried to look over the balcony edge at the two men playing cards far below.

Goldfinger’s countenance below became puzzled and he made some show of adjusting his hearing aid control box. Zimmer concentrated on his cards, deeply worried at the amount of money he had already lost. He was already frauding his company to cover gambling debts. This game was supposed to get him out of his terrible troubles.  
Unobtrusively, Goldfinger readjusted the hearing aid in his ear, concerned that he did not have a certain Russian voice in his ear.  
“Come on, play your card,” Zimmer flustered.  
Reluctantly Goldfinger played what he thought would be safe.  
“Ah, that’s more like it,” smiled Zimmer.

Looking back at the man beside him, Solo suddenly noticed the intense, cold blue eyes. “And what’s your name my friend?” ventured Solo.  
The blond relaxed, but the tenseness did not leave his eyes as he assumed a casual posture. “Kuryakin.” The man’s features gave away nothing more than his answers did, the agent noted.

Solo tried not to be distracted by it as he took the opportunity to look through the telescope - invading the blonde’s personal space. He clearly saw the cards that Zimmer was holding. “Kuryakin? And what do your friends call you?”  
The blonde smirked. “Kuryakin.”

Solo turned his full attention to his brash, insolent new captive, “Tell me Kuryakin, why does he feel the need to cheat?”  
Kuryakin’s shoulders lifted in a small movement, “He likes to win.”  
They were very close as Solo looked again through the scope yet Kuryakin did not move away – a man not to be intimidated.  
“And why,” Solo asked, “do you do it?”  
“He pays me.”  
“Is that all he pays you for?”  
Again, the casual shrug, “Of course. That and to be seen with him.”  
Napoleon left the view in the telescope and looked directly into the intense blue eyes just a breath away from him, “Just seen with him?”  
The blond was amused but also definite, “Just seen.”

Solo laughed at the response, “How clever of you.”  
He took a moment to take measure of the man before him. Kuryakin was different than the usual Thrush thug but he was still the enemy. In the spy business, instinct was always something that a good professional listened to. But this man was very hard to read. 

Solo returned his glance to the telescope but he kept the gun trained on Kuryakin, trusting his instinct that this man was trained in skills that were best kept at bay.  
“How about we play with Mr. Goldfinger a little.” Kuryakin, if he disagreed, said nothing. His face was unreadable.  
Solo switched the transmitter back on and tapped the microphone – the raspy noise visibly shook Goldfinger down on the pool deck. “Now hear this Goldfinger, your luck has just changed. I doubt very much if the Miami Beach Police would take kindly to what you’re doing.” Solo glanced at Kuryakin to see any reaction. There was none so his attention returned to the men below. “Nod your head if you agree.”

Goldfinger’s face was frozen under the darkness of the brim of his hat but Solo could tell from his body language that the man was near apoplexy.  
When no overt reaction was forthcoming, Solo commanded, “Nod!”  
Goldfinger gave a slight, stiff nod.

“Good. Now start losing Goldfinger. Shall we say $10,000?” Solo saw Kuryakin give a slight movement and he smiled at the unexpected sign. “Yes. Let’s be generous. Let’s make it $20,000.”  
Goldfinger’s body became very still – not a good sign. 

“May I see?” the accented deep voice asked quietly, the face still unreadable but Solo thought he caught a quick amused twinkle in the blue eyes. Solo moved carefully away and let Kuryakin glance through the telescope.

The two men below continued to play their cards. Zimmer oblivious to the change in Goldfinger but not the change in his luck. “Now this is really my day! Gin!”  
Kuryakin moved back, the twinkle definitely there. Solo checked the scope and caught Goldfinger snapping a pencil in two with shaking hands.  
“Over and out.” Solo turned off the transmitter. “That should keep him occupied for some time.”

“I’m beginning to understand you Mr. Solo.”  
“Call me Napoleon. And I, Kuryakin, find I do not understand you at all.”

A woman’s voice interrupted the two, “Mr. Solo. How very clever of you to get the drop on our own Mr. Kuryakin.” A strikingly beautiful blond woman walked onto the balcony. Distracted, Solo quickly lost his gun to Kuryakin’s quick hands.  
Surprised at the loss, he looked quickly between the two. “Ah, I seem to be at a disadvantage.”  
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe your luck is changing,” spoke the Russian calmly as he rose easily from the deck lounge. In a surprising move, he just as quickly returned Solo’s gun to his outstretched hand. Surprised, Solo took it – a questioning look in his eye.

The U.N.C.L.E. agent spoke directly to Kuryakin, for once ignoring the woman. “Well, what on earth are we going to do about it?”  
“Yes what…” Kuryakin seemed to be deliberating.

The woman didn’t like the fact that Kuryakin returned the gun.  
“Mr. Solo will take me to dinner,” the blond woman recaptured the conversation. “After all I was supposed to be watching Illya’s back so it’s my mess to clean up.”  
“Ahhh. So it is Illya.”  
Kuryakin backed away and relinquished any claim.

Seeing this Solo, turned and smiled at the woman, now noticing her gorgeous shape and golden hair. There seems to be a golden theme here. “Where will you be taking me, lovely lady?”  
“Well I know the best place in town.”  
Solo slipped easily into old habits, “My own personal tour guide. And what shall I call you?”  
“My name is Jill Masterson. Come darling, you don’t want to keep me waiting. Illya tell Goldfinger I’ll be late.”  
_“Da svadanya.”_

**********

Solo’s room showed the remnants of a half-eaten meal and a bed that was in full use. Two glasses of Champaign were sitting on the nearby table.  
“Satisfied?” whispered Jill.  
“Very,” Napoleon grinned his sly sexy look. Just then the phone rang.

Solo picked up, “Hello?”  
“Lieder here.”  
Napoleon jumped. He’d forgotten, in all the activity, that Felix would be checking in. He moved away from the woman as he took the call.  
“Oh, um yes.”  
“What about our dinner?”  
“Ah yes dinner. Well look I’m sorry I can’t. Something’s come up.” Jill moved over to tease the back of Napoleon’s neck with a lock of her hair.  
“I see,” the voice over the phone responded knowingly.

“Look Felix, what about breakfast?”  
The woman whispered in his ear, “Not too early…” Napoleon smiled; he hadn’t planned on this being an all-nighter but he was flexible.  
Felix had figured out just how Napoleon was occupied. “Alright, I’ll call you at nine.”  
“Yes, nine o’clock will be fine. Goodnight.” He hung up and turned to Jill. He frowned saying “Oh it’s lost its chill.”  
“What?” she asked surprised but she saw that he was referring to the Champaign bottle. “Oh yes, of course.”

Solo rose easily from the bed. “Sorry, there is another in the fridge.”  
“Who needs it,” she called, losing the man as he moved away.  
“My dear girl, there are some things that are just not done. Such as drinking Dom Perignon ’53 above the temperature of 38 degrees Fahrenheit.” Napoleon moved smoothly into the small kitchenette while wrapping himself in his robe leaving the woman lazily basking on the bed. “That’s as bad as listening to the Beatles on an ear box.” He opened the fridge, intent on trying to locate that last bottle he put in to chill the other night. “Now where is that bottle…” He opened one of the fridge drawers as he couldn’t remember where he hid it. 

Quiet, deadly quiet, a hand reached up from the dark shadow of the room and, with a swift karate chop to the back of his head, rendered Napoleon unconscious on the floor. The shadow of the man revealed a square solid physique with a small bowler hat firmly placed on the short stature. The shadow moved determinedly back to the bedroom.

Hours later, Solo slowly awoke, his head throbbing with a splitting headache. Dazedly he pulled himself upright. Leaning on the counter, he looked around just in case his attacker was still present but he heard nothing. Finally, that silence registered to him. Cautiously he moved back into the bedroom calling her name. “Jill?”

Napoleon was stopped short at the doorway. He reached over and switched on the overhead light not quite believing his eyes. On the bed, glittering in shiny gold was the woman known as Jill. Her naked body was completely covered in what appeared to be golden paint. Her every rounded curves, every stretched muscle, every firm bulge was frozen forever in a horrible golden hue. Sickened, Solo moved in closer and saw that she was quite dead – and not an easy death. The body was a shocking statue to the once vibrant, beautiful woman now forever stilled.

He quickly grabbed the phone beside the bed and asked for room 1119. While he waited, his eyes could not leave the exposed golden body laid out before him, nor the evidence of a death filled with agony. His look became very grim.  
“Hello?”  
“Hello, Felix. Get up here right away.”  
“What’s happened?”  
“A girl’s dead.”  
“Dink?!”  
“No someone named Jill Masterson. And she’s covered in paint. Gold paint.”

**********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Per the usual routine, leave a comment, a question, or a hot tip - entirely your choice.


	3. Chapter 3

#### Act III - _“I’ll need some kind of bait.”_

“Gold paint! All over you say?”  
Solo was before Mr. Waverly in the Section 1 office deep within the U.N.C.L.E. New York Headquarters. Waverly knew his agent was affected by the death, by the horror of it. But he also knew he would handle it like the professional he was.  
Solo nodded assent. “Pure Gold paint. She died of skin suffocation. The body is deprived of oxygen and overheats. Slowly, oxygen starved muscle and tissue go into spasm, the lungs choke, and the heart seizes. It’s been known to happen to cabaret dancers. It’s all right as long as you don’t leave the paint on too long.”  
“Harrumph! Someone obviously left it on too long on purpose. Terrible way to die. Terrible.” Taking up his pipe he continued, “This is an assignment like any other Mr. Solo. I expect you to handle it like any other. You have hardly distinguished yourself, have you? You were supposed to simply observe Mr. Goldfinger not borrow the hired help. And certainly not get one of them killed.” Solo moved restlessly in his chair.  
“I see that you mention a Mr. ah…. Kuryakin?”  
“Uhm yes sir. Blond, athletic, spoke with a slight accent – European I think. Mr. Kuryakin mentioned that he was under contract and paid to be seen with Goldfinger.”  
“A hired gun, Mr. Solo?” Waverly asked.  
Remembering the blonde’s quick reactions, Solo responded, “Possibly. Do we know anything about the man?”  
“We do not. It seems Mr. Kuryakin is a mystery. He came on the scene recently; he seems to be everywhere that Mr. Goldfinger shows yet seems to always be in the background. Add this to your assignment – get close to this fellow. You may be able to use him for information. But be careful. The question is, is Mr. Kuryakin simply hired help at the lowest level or will he make trouble for us? I do not have to tell you that we do not need any more trouble do I, Mr. Solo?”  
“No sir.”  
“To add to our troubles, it seems we have lost our target. Mr. Goldfinger has gone off to Europe. And it is only due to Agent Lieder and my ah… intervention, that you are not in the custody of the Miami Beach Police over this dead woman business.”  
“Sir, I’m aware of my shortcomings but I’m prepared to continue this assignment in the spirit you suggest…” Solo let his anger show, “however it would be really helpful if I knew what all this business was really about?! Sir.” The last was offered as an after thought.

Waverly glanced at Solo. He saw that his agent was frustrated but he knew that often he was only allowed to let his people operate on a need-to-know basis. On this particular affair, he came to a decision. “What do you know about gold Mr. Solo, not simply bullion?”  
“I know it when I see it.”  
“Meet me at the United Nations Building at seven o’clock this evening. Black tie.” Waverly commanded then returned to the files on his desk in dismissal.  
Surprised, Solo nodded and left.  
“And what do you know about gold, Moneypenny?” Solo addressed Mr. Waverly’s personal assistant and confident.  
“Oh, the only gold I know about is the kind you wear. You know on the third finger of your left hand?”  
“Hmmm. You know one of these days we really must look into that.” Solo flirted but his thoughts were elsewhere.  
“Well, what about tonight? You can come around for dinner and I’ll cook you a beautiful angle cake.”  
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure but unfortunately I do have ah… a business appointment.”  
“That’s the flimsiest excuse you’ve ever given me. Some girls have all the luck.” Moneypenny gave Solo an intense glare, “Who is she Napoleon?”  
A disembodied voice replied over the boss’s intercom, _“She_ is none other than myself, Miss Moneypenny. And kindly omit the customary by-play with Mr. Solo. We are dining at the U.N. tonight and I do not wish him to be late.”  
Moneypenny quickly turned off the intercom but paused to smile at Solo. “So, there is hope for me yet?”  
Solo gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek, “Moneypenny there is always hope.”

**********

Solo had just left the ladies in U.N.C.L.E. Research. He had little to show for his efforts to find out more about the mysterious Illya Kuryakin. With all the resources open to U.N.C.L.E., he was still only able to collect very little. Auric Goldfinger was known to be a Russian citizen, as he suspected was Kuryakin, but no information on how the two met. Though Kuryakin’s nationality was presumed Russian, he had been overheard speaking several languages fluently. His age was noted through sketchy records at twenty-three but nothing on exact date of birth, marital status, or family history. U.N.C.L.E. had some information of possible military experience or a mercenary background but this was unconfirmed. Photo evidence suggested several scars found on his body – alleged gun shot or knife wounds. Solo wondered, with a smile, how this very private information was attained.  
There were also reports of Kuryakin holding a remarkable scholastic record and a PhD in Quantum Physics. Interesting if not surprising, in one so young. Goldfinger seemed to rely on Kuryakin for a number of tasks but always kept him within his influence. The man was obviously deep within the Thrush camp and yet had saved his life by returning his gun. Whatever he thought, Kuryakin was not just hired help, Solo thought, not _‘just’_ at anything.

**********

Later that evening, Mr. Solo dined at the U.N.’s exclusive executive suite used at only the most senior level. Only the best cuisine was served on a first-class table setting, companioned by some of the world’s finest wines. Only those present for meetings of the highest security and importance were cleared to appear.  
Three gentlemen were joined by Mr. Waverly and Mr. Solo, all in formal evening wear. These power brokers sat at ease around the ornate dining table laid with the finest china and crystal. Solo was soon formally introduced to Colonel Smithers, head of the Bank of England, Clement Beaune, Chairman of the European Banking Authority, and Walter Buttinger, Head of the Board at the U.S. Treasury. The Colonel, a courtly older man but still commanding attention with practiced authority, held the floor.

“We, at the Bank of England, Mr. Solo, are the official depository for gold bullion for all of the British Common Wealth, just as the European NATO has an official depository, and just as Fort Knox, Kentucky is for the United States. Of course, Russia continues to believe that their site is unknown to us.”  
Mr. Waverly coughed at this misnomer.  
“We know of course the amounts we each hold, we know the amounts in other banks around the world, and we can estimate the amounts being held for industrial purposes. This enables the governments to establish, respectively, the true value of the pound, the dollar, and the ruble. Constantly we are vitally concerned with unauthorized leakages.”  
“I take it by leakages you mean smuggling,” Solo put in.  
Mr. Waverly winced. He hated to be imprecise with slang. “Yes, Mr. Solo.”  
The official smiled ruefully but continued, “Gold, gentleman, which can be melted down and then recast is virtually untraceable, which makes it, unlike diamonds, ideal for smuggling. Attracting the boldest and the most ingenious of criminals.” 

Calling a halt to his presentation, the British official turned to the waiters, “That will be all. You are excused.”  
“As you wish, sir.” 

This left only the three power brokers of the world’s wealth, Mr. Waverly, and Mr. Solo in the room. The Colonel offered to re-fill Solo and Waverly’s glass. “I say, have a little more of this rather disappointing brandy,”  
Buttinger picked up his glass and looked up surprised. “What’s the matter with it?”  
Solo responded, taking his glass and sniffing, “I’d say it was a 30-year-old vein, indifferently blended sir.” Still showing off he added with a smile, “with an overdose of _bonne moi._ ”  
The U.S. Board member looked confused. The European chuckled, “Loosely translated it means ‘a dream come true.’ A bit full of itself, if you will.”  
Mr. Waverly hid his grin as he gently reined in his overly boisterous agent, “Colonel Smithers is giving the lecture, Mr. Solo, if you please.”

“Yes well, gentlemen, to continue, Mr. Goldfinger has gold bullion on deposit in Zurich, Amsterdam, Karakas, and Hong Kong worth 20 million pounds and is reportedly moving it. Most of it came originally from our three sources though I imagine some of it is Russian.”  
“Why move it?” Solo asked.  
Buttinger replied, “Because gold varies from country to country. You buy it here in the U.S. at $30 dollars an ounce. Then you can sell it in say Pakistan for $110 dollars and triple your money. Providing of course you have the facilities for melting it down.”  
“And has he?”  
Mr. Waverly took up the briefing, “Thrush is one of his sponsors, Mr. Solo. Apart from being a legitimate bullion dealer, Mr. Goldfinger poses as …. eh no that’s not quite fair. He is, among his many other interests, a legitimate international jeweler. He’s legally entitled to operate modest metallurgical installations. His British plant is down in Kent.”  
Colonel Smithers took back the conversation, “As yet we have failed to discover how he transfers his gold overseas. And lord knows we’ve tried.”  
Buttinger pointed at Waverly, “If your department can establish how this is done illegally, then the government can institute proceedings to recover the bulk of his holdings. Thrush can’t protect him.” The five men sat back and contemplated the enormity of the task.  
Solo looked at his superior for confirmation, “I think it’s time Mr. Goldfinger and I met – socially of course.”  
“I was hoping you’d say that.” The British banker rose from his chair.  
“It might lead to a _reunion d’affaires,_ a little business talk,” ventured the European.  
Mr. Waverly shook his head, not to be persuaded. “Only Mr. Goldfinger’s kind of business, I’m afraid gentlemen.”  
Solo agreed, “I’ll need some kind of bait.”  
“I quite agree.” Smithers returned to the table with a box. “This is one of 600 produced at the Nazi Juggernaut Foundry. It is the only one we have recovered from Mount Saint Horde from the bottom of a lake in the south country. There are undoubtedly others.” The Colonel opened the box revealing a large rectangle block of pure gold – striking in its brilliant color and weight. “Mr. Solo can make any use of it as he sees fit. Providing he returns it of course. It’s ah… worth a paltry fifty thousand pounds.”  
As Solo reached for the brick, Mr. Waverly cut in, “You’ll receive the bait, as it were, at our London Headquarters when you arrive in England, Mr. Solo, along with the rest of your equipment.”  
“Very good, sir.” The agent sat back down empty handed.

**********


	4. Chapter 4

#### Act IV – _“I am very protective of my property, Mr. Solo.”_

U.N.C.L.E.’s London Headquarters was infamous for its ingenious gadgets and state-of-the-art equipment. Solo reported to the Research & Development Section deep underground, entering through the many security locks. He found he was unable to restrain himself from picking up one of the many interesting devices on the work bench.  
Coming up from behind, Solo could just feel the ‘British Rank’ of the man known throughout U.N.C.L.E. only as Q. A genius yet bordering on psychotic about loaning out his toys. “Good morning Q.”  
Sternly taking back the proto-type from the agent’s inquisitive fingers, “Good morning, Mr. Solo. This way if you please.”

“Where’s my car?”  
“You’ll be using this Austin Martin DB5, Mr. Solo, with modifications.” The two men approached a sporty little race car in metallic silver. “Now pay attention please. The windscreen is bullet-proof as are the side and rear windows. Revolving license plates, naturally, valid in all countries.”  
Q removed a small gadget from his lab pocket. “Here is a little transmitting device called a ‘homer.’ You prime it by pressing the back like this, you see? The smaller model is now standard field issue. It can fit into the heel of your shoe. Its larger brother is magnetic.” Q handed the two devices to Solo and turned. “Right. The big brother can be concealed in the car you’re trailing while you keep out of sight.”  
Opening the car door, Q sat in the passenger seat hitting a small trigger, revealing a radar scope. “Reception on the dash board is here. Audio-visual range is 115 miles.”  
“Ingenious. And useful too. It would allow a man to stop off for a quick one on route.” Solo grinned.  
“It has not been perfected out of years of patient research entirely for that purpose, Mr. Solo. And incidentally we would appreciate its return along with all your other equipment – intact for once, when you return from the field.”

“Well, you’d be surprised at the amount of wear and tear that goes on out there in the field.”  
Q grimly stared at the cocky American agent in disbelief.

Solo thought the better part of valor would be to change the subject, “Anything else?”  
“Well, I won’t keep you for more than an hour or so if you give me your undivided attention.”  
Solo sighed  
.  
“We’ve installed some rather interesting modifications in the vehicle. You see the console here between the front seats? Open the top and inside are your defense mechanism controls, smoke screen, oil slick, rear bullet-proof screen, and left and right front wing machine guns. Now this one I’m particularly keen about. You see the gear leaver here? Now if you take the top off, you’ll find a little red button underneath.”  
Q stood up to look directly at Solo. “Whatever you do don’t touch it!”

“Er… why not?”  
“Because you’ll release this section of the car’s roof and fire the passenger ejector seat. Then whoosh!” Q’s old wrinkled face was finally smiling.

Solo marveled, “Ejector seat, you’re joking!”  
Q returned to his serious face, “If you’ll pardon, I never joke about my work, Mr. Solo.” 

**********

The wide-sweeping grassland was trimmed to perfection of this, the most exclusive golf course in the British Isles. Complete with a deep green forest of manicured trees, landscaping of breathtaking beauty that ensured privacy, and of course an impressive castle that marked the grounds of the restricted Kent County Club, access limited only to the very rich and famous.

Two men were talking in the small pro shop of the Club; one, the golf pro Arnold Becking and the other a spiffy dressed gentleman golfer. The infamous Auric Goldfinger entered the shop in the impeccable dress of the wealthy, all in gold trim, out for a day of golf. Interrupting he barked, “Ready Becking?”  
“Yes sir. Ah, there’s an old member just dropped by sir, same handicap as yours. I wondered if you’d rather play with him?”  
“Where is he?”  
The pro turned to the dark, fashionably dressed gentleman behind him, “Mr. Solo?”  
“Yes?” the agent turned innocently from the clubs he was inspecting.  
“This is Mr. Goldfinger.”

The older man slowly turned and took his time inspecting the younger man standing before him. His eyes traveled up and down, taking measure no more than a piece of meat. “How do you do?”  
Solo felt thoroughly exposed but responded with a sly grin, as he loved a challenge. “How do you do?” He tipped his rakish cap.

The pro spoke up helpfully, “You can go straight off to the first tee – it’s clear.”  
“Fine,” Solo said as he walked boldly to the door.  
“I’ll get Halkin to caddy for you Mr. Solo, shall I?”  
“That will be splendid.” Smiling, Solo turned to the quiet Goldfinger as he passed, “Shall we make it a shilling a hole?”

Goldfinger merely nodded his head; his intense stare was unnerving to lesser mortals.

**********

As Solo stepped out onto the course, a heavy Korean man moved in his path challengingly. The agent paused. There was something familiar about the man blocking his way, as if he had seen him before but he couldn’t quite remember where. Something about the bulky size and the bowler hat on his head.  
“Oh, you must excuse Oddjob, Mr. Solo.” Goldfinger walked past Solo unconcerned. “He is an admirable manservant but mute. He’s not a very good caddy. Golf is not yet the national game of Korea, is it Oddjob?” laughed Goldfinger. His silent manservant, unfazed by the jest, followed the two men out to the course like a dark shadow.

It was the 16th hole, Solo sunk his ball. Goldfinger approached his ball a foot from the hole with a small glance at his co-player. “This meeting is not a coincidence Mr. Solo. What is your game?”  
As Goldfinger began the set up for his putt, Solo smiled, “My game?”  
The older man muttered as he studied his shot, “You didn’t come here just to play golf, did you.” It was a statement not a question.

A solid brick of pure-gold landed on the grass next to Goldfinger’s ball. Seemingly unfazed, the man took his putt. Unfortunately killing the affect, he missed the easy shot.  
Solo swallowed a small smile.

As Goldfinger walked away, Solo picked up the gold bar and handed it to his caddy, a shocked Halkin, and then followed.  
“A 1940 smelt from the Juggernaut Foundry, yes?” Goldfinger asked, with an expert’s knowledge.  
Solo nodded, “A part of a foundry of 600.”  
“They vanished in 1944.”  
“When the Nazi were on the run.”  
“Do you have access to more?”  
Solo answered casually, “Yes. From a private source.”  
“Interesting.” As he paused, Goldfinger’s face set in the cold, hardness of greed.

The two golfers approached the next tee with both caddies in tow. Goldfinger stopped to remark, “Two holes to go.”  
“Yes, and we’re both even.” Solo placed his ball on the tee.  
“Then you have no objection to increasing the stakes?”  
“Not at all. What do you have in mind?”  
“The bar of gold you have with you, naturally.”  
“It’s worth fifty thousand pounds,” Solo said with amusement.  
“Oh, I’ll stake the cash equivalent, naturally,” Goldfinger laughed easily.  
“Naturally.”  


Solo paused as suddenly a thought occurred to him. It was a risk but he was nothing if not a man who pushed his limits. “Throw in a game of golf between Mr. Kuryakin and myself and you have a deal.” Kuryakin had saved his life. If he could get him alone he might just be able to repay the debt.  
The smile immediately left Goldfinger’s face. “Illya?” Hostility, suspicion, maybe jealousy, showed on his face.  
It surprised Solo how much Goldfinger referring with such familiarity to the blonde Russian bothered him but he kept his expression casual. He shrugged, “He interests me.”  
It was then that Solo got his first peek at the madness that was inside Goldfinger’s soul. The man adamantly shook his head “Illya doesn’t play. The gold or nothing!”  
Solo believed the stakes had just gone up as he agreed to the original deal.

As Solo raised his club to drive, Goldfinger strategically interrupted, “Strict rules of golf?”  
“But of course.” The agent returned his hands to the starting position as he shook out the tension. He made his shot and it was perfect down the center of the fairway.  
Goldfinger approached his caddy; Oddjob giving him his driver. He took his shot and they all watched as the ball skipped into the trees to one side. Interesting that the mention of Kuryakin put Goldfinger off his game, thought Solo.  
He could barely keep the smile out of his voice, “Oh bad luck. You’re in the rough.” Goldfinger scowled.

All four scattered to try to find Goldfinger’s ball. The caddy, Halkin, walked by as Solo noticed a ball on the ground and frowned, “Oh what a pity. Here’s his ball.”  
The caddy picked it up, “No its not. He plays a Slazenger 1.”  
Solo saw the caddy was right, this ball had ‘Slazenger 7’ written on it. He turned to call to the other golfer, “Strict rules of golf, Goldfinger. Your 5 minutes are almost up. A lost ball will cause you a stroke and distance.”

The Korean caddy moved away from the group, more out to the fairway. Jiggling his pocket, a ball dropped from his fingers. He made a clapping sound catching everyone’s attention and pointed helpfully to the newly found ball.  
“Ah ha!” Goldfinger smiled triumphantly with child-like glee and moved to the ball. “I’m still training him as a caddy.”  
“Successfully too I see,” Solo commented to himself.

Looking down, Goldfinger loudly confirmed his ball, “Slazenger number 1? Good!” He set up his shot not troubled at all with blatant cheating.

Halkin walked over to Solo and muttered, “If that’s his original ball, I’m Arnold Palmer.”  
“Tisn’t” Solo said.  
“What? How do you know?”  
“Cuz I’m standing on it.”

Halkin looked down and sure enough there was Goldfinger’s real ball under Solo’s cleat. “Why you crafty old…” The caddy bent down to retrieve the ball only to be stopped.  
“Leave it.” Solo took out another ball from his pocket, an evil glint in his eye.  
“Is that the ball you found earlier, sir?”  
“Yes, the Slazenger 7. Let’s have a little fun with our Mr. Goldfinger, shall we?”

At the end of the hole, Solo’s ball was a few inches from the hole and Goldfinger was at least 2 feet away. “Would you like me to mark it or knock it in?”  
“Hmmm. Play it.” Goldfinger grandly allowed, so Solo knocked his in. Goldfinger then also knocked his in. As Solo reached down in the hole, he carefully switched balls. 

“One hole to go and that will be the clincher.” He casually tossed the wrong ball to Goldfinger.  
Halkin passed Solo and asked under his breath, “Did you switch them sir?”  
“Yep.”  
“Then we’ve got him.”  
“If… he doesn’t notice the switch.”

Hole 18. Goldfinger walked arrogantly up to the tee and prepared to take his shot. Halkin balked in shock, turning to Solo, “It’s your honor sir.” The golfer that was ahead, by rule, was supposed to go first and that was Solo.  
Solo stopped Halkin, “No it’s all right.” The agent didn’t want anything to give Goldfinger time to notice his changed ball. The older man took his drive, hitting the ball in play. 

At the 18th flag, Goldfinger easily sunk his ball. His eyes mad with triumph, he called to his opponent, “Down in five! Beat that!”  
Solo approached his putt. “I have to sink mine to have this game, right?” He missed the easy shot on purpose. “Oh well. You win Goldfinger.”

“Hah! It seems I’m too good for you.” The older man beamed at winning.  
Solo reached down to retrieve both balls from the hole. “Wait a minute. You play a Slazenger 1, don’t you?”  
Goldfinger frowned, “Yes of course. Why?”  
Solo handed him the ball, “This is a Slazenger 7.” Clearly holding up the other ball he said, “Here is my Penfield Hearts. You must have played the wrong ball somewhere along the 18th fairway. We are playing strict rules so I’m afraid you lose the hole and the match.” 

Goldfinger went deadly quiet, the power of rage fought for control. Suddenly he threw the ball away, his face flush red, and stormed off.  
A successful game all around, Solo thought – always a player himself.

**********

In front of the clubhouse, Solo walked up to the Korean, busy stowing his master’s clubs into the back of a beautifully restored vintage car. As the manservant moved away, Solo unobtrusively planted the ‘homer’ into the trunk out of sight. Seeing Goldfinger approach, the man’s anger now under stiff control, he called, “She’s a beauty. A Phantom 357, isn’t she?

“You are a clever and resourceful man, Mr. Solo.”  
“Why thank you.”  
“Perhaps too clever. Twice our paths have crossed, let’s leave it at that. I should think our first meeting would have convinced you. She was a beautiful woman.”

Solo froze as the picture of the anguished dead face came into his mind. Shaking himself he ignored the remark and fell back into his role, “Oh I see. You’re worried about me not giving you a return game.”  
“Both of us know perfectly well what we are talking about, Mr. Solo. But I see that it is necessary to remind you. Oddjob.”  
The manservant quickly moved forward as Goldfinger continued, “Many people have tried to involve themselves in my affairs, unsuccessfully.” Goldfinger touched his head and then pointed to a statue to the side of the drive. The Korean stepped away and in a graceful but deadly move, threw his bowler hat at the statue. What Solo saw was the head of the statue neatly sliced from the body in one quick pass.

The point unmistakable, Solo recovered. “Remarkable. But what does the club secretary have to say about this?”  
“Nothing Mr. Solo. You see I own the club.”

Goldfinger stepped into the back seat of his fine car. “I assume you want the check made out to cash?”  
“That would be perfectly satisfactory.”  
“We both know what became of your acquaintance with the female. And I know that you have already met my Russian pet. He has been severely punished for his part in your last endeavor I assure you. Now you will forget him. He is not your concern. I warn you, Mr. Solo. I am very protective of my property.” 

Solo’s eyebrows were raised at the word _‘property’_ not to mention the word _‘pet'_. But he could only frown at the word _‘punished'._

Goldfinger wrote out the check as his manservant, having retrieved his hat, sat in the driver’s seat and started the engine. “Goodbye Mr. Solo.”  
“Oh, I believe this is yours.” Solo tossed the real Slazenger 1 ball into Oddjob’s hand. The man quietly crushed the ball into grains of sand, pulverizing it.

**********


	5. Chapter 5

## Act V – _“I never miss. I was ordered to only warn you off.”_

Solo began the arduous task that faced every agent – that of trailing the bad guy. The Austin Martin’s technology system easily tracked Goldfinger’s car for several hours ending up at a private airfield in southern England. He watched as the Phantom 357 was elevated into the open cargo hold of a waiting plane. Finally, he saw Goldfinger, and the ever-present Oddjob, approach the stairs to board the plane. With binoculars, Solo watched, hidden beside his own car.

He saw Goldfinger hesitate at the bottom of the stairs because there at the top, waiting, was Kuryakin. His blonde hair, waving in the wind, unmistakable. As Goldfinger and Kuryakin met, angry words seemed to ensue, all from Goldfinger. At one point the older man seemed on the verge to strike Kuryakin but the blonde did not back down. Not an easy thing with such a powerful Thrush boss.  
Finally, Goldfinger seemed to relax. He patted the younger man’s face instead, missing a bandage along the side of Kuryakin’s neck. Then he moved into the plane followed by his ever-present butler.  
Kuryakin remained frozen and exposed at the top of the stairs as he seemed to scan the horizon searching for something. He finally shook himself as he lowered his head, hesitating, and then moved inside. Almost as if sealing his own fate, Kuryakin closed the hatch.

Solo wondered if his counter offer during the golf game had inadvertently put Kuryakin’s position in jeopardy and he wondered why he cared. But he did. He also wondered at the new bandage and whether it had anything to do with a madman’s punishment.  
Breaking into his thoughts, an airport official came up to his car. “Mr. Solo? Sorry, you’ve just missed this flight to Geneva but I’ve got you and your vehicle booked out on the next one, leaving in an hour.  
“Oh, thank you very much.”  
“Right.”  
As he watched, the plane taxied for take off and, temporarily at least, out of his reach.

**********

Along the hills above Geneva, Solo’s car sped along trying to make up for lost time. The beauty of the surrounding mountains, the old-world villages, was lost to him as he only had eyes for the road and the blip on the radar. The car’s radar, fortunately, had Goldfinger’s car solidly tracked and beeping away center screen. 

An hour into the drive Solo saw what appeared to be a convertible some ways behind him. The car neither approached nor fell back – simply kept pace. _Now I wonder who that is,_ thought Solo.  
“Discipline, Napoleon, discipline.” The agent sat back and tried to relax and focus on the lead car. 

Soon, he noticed on the radar that Goldfinger’s car was stationary. He must have stopped for refreshments. The agent pulled over near the top of a hill, several feet above the motionless Phantom 357. As he got out to watch, he saw Goldfinger talking to some locals, selecting produce from a road-side stand. He did not miss Goldfinger’s glance up the hill but he did miss that the glance was not in his direction. Above him, a lone rifle, made to precise specifications, a tool used only by a professional, aimed at Solo’s back. Kuryakin squeezed the trigger, the bullet hit the cliff at the agent’s feet missing him by inches. Kuryakin saw Solo duck quickly behind his car. Knowing that there would be no more opportunities he sighed and left.

The Korean smiled, looking up the hill, and soon started the car, confident that he and Goldfinger could continue on their journey without hindrance.

The convertible came around a bend in the hill only to have a silver racing car come up behind from a side road. Solo smiled as the chase began. Taking up the challenge, the convertible jumped ahead in speed, easily taking a tight turn. At the next turn, the Austin Martin cut ahead on the inside, barely missing the other car. Not to be outdone, the convertible pressed forward. The two cars played a dangerous game as the narrow road twisted and turned around the steep hills on one side and a terrifying drop on the other. Solo was impressed at the other’s skill and bravery, noticing again the deep cliff on one side and the high speed they were traveling at. The U.N.C.L.E. agent reveled at matching skills with another worthy adversary, skill for skill, speed for speed, risk for risk.

Taking advantage of a flat stretch of road, the convertible jumped forward racing beside the Martin. Solo hazarded a glance at the driver, confirming his hunch – it was Kuryakin. The blonde gave him a salute and started to pull forward. Solo smiled as he thought, _‘oh no, my Russian friend.’_ He flipped open the compartment beside his seat and pressed the button releasing the wheel wings, sharp enough to cut steel according to Q. As Solo maneuvered his car, the extended wings sliced into the convertible’s front and back tires, instantly shredding them. Kuryakin’s car swerved madly and he saw the Russian make a valiant effort to control his dive off the road. The car finally halted, smashing into a ditch, throwing its driver against the steering wheel.

Solo would not admit to himself his concern as he quickly pulled over to check on the driver. He would also not let himself forget that Kuryakin had just tried to shoot him. As his ran across the road, he saw Kuryakin, raise a handkerchief to a cut on his forehead as he stood unsteady beside his car. “Are you alright?”  
“Hmm. No thanks to you.”

Solo noticed the Russian was a grumpy accident victim. He took out a silk handkerchief and began to dab at Kuryakin’s open cut. The blonde started to move away but Solo’s grip held his head in place as he continued to clean the wound “You shouldn’t neglect open wounds. They can become septic quickly.” Solo surprised himself as he slipped into an easy banter with the enemy.  
“Yes mother,” Kuryakin replied sarcastically.  
Nether man spoke but each looked at the other with troubled eyes – one dangerous and one reckless.

As if remembering himself, Kuryakin suddenly jerked free and moved away. Solo watched as Kuryakin moved over to the far side of his car and checked out the shredded shape of his two tires.  
The Russian mildly looked over at the American. “Well would you look at that. Both tires blew at the same time, both ripped apart in the same manner.”  
Solo smiled back innocently. “My, my. A double blow out. I’ve never seen one of those before.”

He watched as Kuryakin looked interestedly back over at the now retracted wings of the Austin Martin, then back at Solo. “I believe you owe me a ride to the nearest garage.”  
“I suppose you’re right,” said Solo as he reached into the crashed convertible for the only luggage. He noticed Kuryakin pointedly removed a locked case from the front seat – a case much like those that contained hunting rifles.

At the silver car, the blonde bent down, curious to inspect the Austin Martin’s wheels. To distract him before he discovered too much, Solo called out, “Come on, get in.” Napoleon quickly got in his car and started the engine, gunning it, ready to pull out. 

**********

The two men rode in comfortable silence. Kuryakin busied himself with dabbing the residual blood from his cut forehead. Noticing the bandage on the side of his neck, Solo boldly reached over and pulled an edge down. His eyes widened at the sight of a nasty burn and he suddenly remembered Felix telling him that Goldfinger liked to _‘burn things.’_ Kuryakin pulled away as he put the flap of the bandage back in place. 

Solo asked quietly, “How did you get that?”  
Kuryakin shrugged looking out the window. “The fortunes of war.”  
“But we’re not at war.”  
“Aren’t we?”

Solo glanced in the rear-view mirror. Kuryakin’s locked case had the initials INK.  
“Here for the hunting season?”  
Kuryakin paused, putting away the now soiled handkerchief. Not quite understanding the reference he raised an eyebrow at Solo in question. Solo nodded at the back seat with his head and explained, “I had a case just like that one growing up.”

Kuryakin looked back and replied with an innocent gaze, “That is for my ice skates.”  
Solo’s eyebrows rose at the obvious lie and grinned, “Lovely sport. Where do you skate?”  
“Often at San Maritz.”  
“I didn’t know there was ice there this time of the year.”  
“Of course. The rink is in one of the newer shopping malls.”

Solo suddenly remembered why he should be insulted. “Skates my foot, you took a shot at me!”  
“Hmm.”  
“And you missed,” he growled.  
Now it was Kuryakin’s turn to show insult and it made Solo grin. “I never miss. I was ordered only to warn you off.”  
“It didn’t work, you know.”  
“Yes. I told them it wouldn’t.” Kuryakin muttered angrily.  
“Them, who is ‘them’?” Solo was confused as he expected a ‘him’ not a ‘them.’  
Ignoring the question, he pointed, “There is the garage. Pull over.”

Solo pulled into the station and Kuryakin got out. He heard Kuryakin converse with the garage attendant in fluent German. It seems U.N.C.L.E.’s information about Kuryakin’s grasp of languages was accurate. Maybe they should add expert marksman to the list.

Solo slid open the tracking system and frowned as he noted that Goldfinger’s car was surprisingly behind him not in front. And it was currently stopped about 10 kilometers back onto an off road. This merited immediate investigation but what to do about Kuryakin. He quickly hid the unit as he heard Kuryakin approach.  
“It is all taken care of. Thank you for the ride.” Kuryakin began to remove his bags.  
“Anytime. Well almost any time that you don’t shoot at me first.”  
“Or that you don’t shred my tires during a high-speed chase,” countered Kuryakin.

Solo saw Kuryakin give a small smile and was unaccountably pleased. Surprised at himself, he had enjoyed the easy interplay. In any other circumstance he could have easily called Kuryakin ‘friend.’ Unfortunately, this same man was up to his neck with a notorious Thrush criminal and was not to be trusted. Just used and then nullified as any other Thrush thug. Then why did he continue to feel at ease with him. Conflicted, Solo quickly turned his car around and sped back down the road to get on with the mission.

**********


	6. Chapter 6

#### Act VI – _“What else do you have in your little car of tricks?”_

Solo drove back, following the blip on the radar screen. The signal traced to an isolated factory surrounded by trees called AURIC ENTERPRISES. Scanning the area, noting the terrain, he quickly drove on.  
After parking his car close by, the agent walked back in amongst a wooded area and sat on a hill overlooking the factory car park. Checking through his binoculars, there in the center of the many buildings was the Phantom 357. He sat down to wait in the fading light of day.

As soon as it was dark enough to cover him, he moved down. Quietly he crossed the open drive and reached the wall of the first building. He heard voices and ran on to deeper cover. Spotting a fire escape to the roof, he made quick use of that as the voices came nearer. He continued to climb and soon found himself beside an open vent. Looking inside he saw men working among hot fires and machines. To his amazement on closer look, he saw that most of the men were busy taking apart Goldfinger’s car, piece by piece. And there in the middle of it all was Goldfinger himself talking to an oriental man that Solo thought looked familiar. Concentrating he heard some of the words, “Smuggling is an art. And art requires……..in this case the entire body work of my Rolls Royce is 18 caret gold.”  
As Solo watched, the workmen were slowly melting the metal of the Phantom under the high heat of the smelting plant’s furnaces. Goldfinger was busy pointing to various pieces and the pots of molten metal. The two men stepped out into the cool night where, fortunately, Solo could hear better.

“It would be wiser,” the manager was saying, “to suspend your other activities for a while. That agent….”  
“No. The U.N.C.L.E. agent is no longer a problem.”  
“Ah so you said. But there must be someone else, another reason for deep concern. Some of our most closely guarded secrets are leaking out. We must know how and have this leak stopped immediately!”  
“I am dealing with that problem and there will be a most devastating consequence. Now come, Operation Grand Slam will soon have my undivided attention. There is a certain matter…” Goldfinger led the manager inside. Solo quickly retreated back to the trees.

Darkness covered him well but it was also very hard to see his way. As he moved around a stump, Solo suddenly became aware of a dark shape just before it tumbled into him and took him down. Turning quickly, he smashed a fist into the shadow and was pleased to hear a muffled response. As both lumps tumbled, they rolled inadvertently over a wire, breaking the contact.  
_“Bozhe Moi!_ Now look what you’ve done.” Solo was surprised to recognize the whispered voice. His weight having pinned down the bucking dark shadow, he suddenly saw the face of Kuryakin – now a very angry Kuryakin.

“Well, well. What have we here?”  
Kuryakin stopped moving, a freeze came into his eyes.  
Solo pressed close, “What’s going on in that factory?”  
“You mean you didn’t recognize the Chinese nuclear physicist?” Kuryakin expertly executed a move that quickly rolled him on top of Solo, effectively pinning the U.N.C.L.E. agent.  
“No, why? Should I?” Solo struggled, trying to catch his breath.  
But when he got only silence, Solo shifted his weight, and was again on top, this forced maneuver eliciting a grunt from the man now beneath him. “Get off you oaf, you’re breaking my back!”  
“Tell me first just what the hell you’re doing here?”  
“My job!”  
Solo sat back on his haunches releasing the Russian. “Your job?! Just why did you jump me?”  
“We don’t have time for idle chat. I was trying to keep you from tripping the alarm.” Brushing himself off, Kuryakin lifted what was left of a broken wire.  
Solo took the wire and starred at Kuryakin, “Just who are you?”

**********

Suddenly a shot rang out and hit the tree next to him, “Just someone interested in staying alive.”  
“Come on” called Solo giving a hand to Kuryakin to stand. Both men took off running in the direction of Solo’s car. As they arrived, they found patrol cars and Thrush guards approaching the Austin Martin.  
Kuryakin pushed Solo forward, “Quick, get in the car. I’ll take care of them.”  
Soon Solo saw the Russian jump head long into several guards, ramming one into the headlight of an on-coming patrol car. As Solo started the engine, he opened the passenger door; once again amazed at the singular effectiveness of his companion. Kuryakin smashed the second headlight with the head of the other guard and jumped in to join Solo as the Austin quickly picked up speed.

Unfortunately, several other patrol cars began to give chase.  
The nearest patrol car started firing but the bullets bounced off the Austin’s protective windows. Kuryakin, his curiosity peaked, asked, “just what make of car is this and where can I purchase one?”  
Solo smiled, “Sorry it’s one of a kind.”  
“I might have known,” huffed the blonde.

Solo noticed the golden locks were securely under cover of a knit cap and the Russian was wearing camouflage clothes. “Just taking a stroll in the park, were you?” The Russian deigned to answer but looking behind them again, he looked worried. “If you must get us lost – could you do it a bit faster?”

The patrol car was coming closer so Solo decided to have some fun. As he opened the console between the seats revealing several control mechanisms. Kuryakin leaned over with an interested look. “And what have we here?”  
Solo held up a finger to get his passenger’s attention and then pressed a special button. Kuryakin noticed a powerful thick smoke pumped out the back tailpipe, reducing visibility for their trailing friends. One of the pursuing cars soon lost its way and rammed into a tree.  
“Clever. What else do you have in your little car of tricks?”  
“Illya I have only begun to show you what I can do.” Napoleon crowed, his ego showing.  
“Yes. I have heard that one before,” remarked Illya with some degree of scorn.

The second patrol car seemed to be angry as the bullets were flying. Solo took a quick turn into a denser part of the forest and, with the Russian’s rapt attention, pushed another button. A jet of oil sprayed out the back of the Austin, greasing the road. The patrol car did not make the sharp turn and burst into flames.  
Kuryakin observed nonchalantly, “Oh yes. Oil in the tail pipe. I have seen this before, Napoleon. Many, many times.” Illya crossed his arms across his chest as the two men glared at each other in challenge.

A third patrol car was soon taking up the chase. Napoleon grinned in anticipation. He took the next turn that led downward into a ravine slowing so the other car came up abreast. He enjoyed seeing that he had the Russian’s undivided attention. He pushed another button and several gun barrels extended from the Austin’s wheels and machine guns blasted the enemy’s car. Ripped apart, the patrol car turned over and exploded. Napoleon sped off into the night, escaping the blast.

“Well?”  
“Hmmm. Adequate. You do seem to have quite a sizable ego, though don’t you?”  
Napoleon grinned, pleased with himself. “You see, Illya, size does matter.”  
“And I have found that it is not the size of the equipment, Napoleon, it’s knowing when to use it.”  
“Wait. Are we still talking about the car?”  
“Try to keep up. That may be difficult for someone with … an _‘overdose of bonne moi’_.”  
Frozen, the agent remembered clearly those very words last spoken at the highly secure room at the UN where only five people were privy to that specific term. 

He was about to question when Illya moved over against the passenger door, shifting back to the professional that Solo now knew he was.  
“You’re clear of them. It is time for me to make my exit.” And with that Illya opened the car door and threw himself out.

Napoleon was shocked at the awful chance the Russian had taken with the car still in motion but he quickly lost sight of the man and there was nothing for it but to go on and get back to his hotel and report in. Solo surprised himself, thinking he still didn’t know which side Illya was on but he noticed that the enemy had now become ‘Illya.’ And, he remembered with a grin, Illya had finally called him ‘Napoleon’.

**********

Regrettably, the next turn held another two patrol cars neatly blocking the road. Barely stopping in time to miss smashing into the cars, he did notice one of the occupants was Oddjob, Goldfinger’s manservant. Solo sighed as he raised his hands in surrender.  
“There was another in the car,” one of the guards spoke to Oddjob. Searching, the guards found no trace of anyone. Solo breathed in relief for the Russian. He did notice Oddjob sported a dark bruise on his jaw that seemed to pain him bit. Illya’s handy-work?  
Oddjob motioned the guards back into their cars. One of them got into the passenger seat with Solo, his rifle pointed at the agent’s stomach. At the guard’s insistence, Solo started the engine and meekly followed the lead patrol car. 

**********


	7. Chapter 7

#### Act VII – _“No, Mr. Solo. I expect you to die.”_

The train of cars drove down a dark private road, deep into the hills. At one point the lead car stopped before a wooden gate and honked. This was the back entrance into the factory lot. A small, old peasant woman came out of a nearby cottage. Raising the gate, she curtsied in the old-fashioned style at the passing cars.  
As Solo shifted into 1st gear, he leaned back in his seat in remembrance of one small device he neglected to show Kuryakin. Maybe it was time for a demonstration. The agent smiled as he thought of how the Russian would have been disappointed to miss this show.

Suddenly the Austin Martin broke out of line. He sped up, and took a different turn than the rest of the train of cars. Recklessly Solo spun the car around a second turn, throwing his passenger off balance. As the guard attempted to bring his rifle up, Solo thumbed the cap on the top of the gear leaver. The guard now had the gun aimed. With a grim look on his face, the U.N.C.L.E. agent pressed the red button. Suddenly the top of the car shot off and, with a scream, so did the passenger.

Solo quickly turned the car around and headed back to the gate. To his surprise and dismay, as he approached the gate the little old woman now had a powerful machine gun blocking his exit. The woman opened fire as he came closer. The battlement overwhelming and he had to change course.

Madly trying to find another way out Solo drove an erratic pattern through the factory’s property, followed closely by several of the patrol cars and taking hits from many of the Thrush guards standing along the path. It was beginning to look hopeless. Grinning like a mad-man, the agent made a last-ditch effort down a side alley hoping for freedom. 

Suddenly he saw the lights from an oncoming car. With the patrols behind him in pursuit, there was no going back so onward he pressed the accelerator. As steady as he drove forward, he marveled that the oncoming car was equally steady. Just at the last moment before impact, Solo swerved smashing terribly into the side of a brick building. The wall fell down around him, crushing the car and leaving him unconscious.

In the silence, Oddjob stalked over to the now crumpled Austin Martin and cracked open the driver door. He orchestrated the extraction of the U.N.C.L.E. agent and the transport of the injured man. Proudly he looked over at the opposite wall and smiled. A giant mirror hung at the end of the alley. It would have reflected a car’s headlights and given the appearance of an oncoming car, making an imprudent driver veer desperately into a wall to escape. His mission a success, Oddjob followed his prisoner into the factory.

**********

Solo woke up slowly. He felt his arms and legs restrained spread-eagle on a hard metal table. Suddenly the overhead lights were turned up, blinding him.  
“Good evening U.N.C.L.E. Agent Napoleon Solo.”  
Solo found himself indeed bound to a table in the middle of an open room. To his right were several people in lab coats within what looked like a control room. Unfortunately, the voice addressing him was very familiar.  
“Good evening Mr. Goldfinger. How did you discover who I am?”  
“The members of your curious organization are few in number. You have been recognized.” Goldfinger approached the table smiling the look of the triumphant. “That was a very interesting car of yours. Too bad it was destroyed.” Goldfinger laughed pointing over Solo’s head. “I too have a new toy but considerably more practical.”  
Solo looked above him and noticed a formidable probe pointing down at him from the ceiling.

“You are looking at an industrial laser which emits an extraordinary light not to be found in nature. It can project a spot on the moon or at closer range cut through solid metal. I will show you.” Goldfinger snapped his fingers at the control room. Immediately the laser overhead moved to aim at the bottom of the table Solo was tied to. The barrel traveled down a track, slowly, until reaching the far end of the table. He watched enthralled as it clicked on, emitting an angry red light aimed at the table below his legs. Anxious, Solo lifted up his head to see the beam searing a line of torn metal moving straight towards him. Transfixed he couldn’t move his eyes off the beam.

Holding up a shinny yellow brick, Goldfinger began his lecture. “This is gold Mr. Solo. All my life I’ve been in love with its color, its brilliance, its divine effervescence.” As Goldfinger ranted on, Solo could feel the searing heat from the beam as it cut a destructive path up the table between his legs. He was getting entirely uncomfortable as the path seemed to lead unerringly towards his groin.

Finally, the mad Thrush concluded, “I welcome any enterprise that will increase my stock. But that is not easy to do.”  
“I think you’ve made your point Goldfinger, thank you for the demonstration.”  
“Choose your next witticism carefully Mr. Solo. It may be your last.” The beam was only inches from hitting its mark and Solo was wiggling, beginning to panic at the possible outcome of this little demonstration. He strained to keep an eye on the progress of the beam.  
“The purpose of our two previous encounters is now very clear to me. I do not intend to be distracted by another. Good night, Mr. Solo.”

Solo looked up astonished as he watched Goldfinger turn to leave. Where was he going?! “Don’t you expect me to talk?”  
The older man turned, chuckling, “No Mr. Solo. I expect you to die. There is nothing that you can talk to me about that I don’t already know.” The man conferred with a lab assistant as he headed for the door.

Solo shuddered as the beam traveled in a precise line straight towards him. He had only moments. He called out, “You’re forgetting one thing.” Goldfinger paused to listen. “If I fail to report, U.N.C.L.E. will send more agents.”  
Goldfinger smiled, unworried, “I trust they will be more successful than you have been.” He turned again to leave.

Remembering what he had overheard, Solo tried again. “There is another agent already here. And he knows what I know.”  
“You know nothing Mr. Solo.”  
But Solo had noticed the man hesitated so he tried again. “Operation Grand Slam for instance.”

Goldfinger stopped. The mention of another agent confirmed his own fears but the mention of the code name for the new project was disconcerting.”  
The beam was so close it was burning cloth. Solo watched anxiously as Goldfinger conferred with his assistants and the now recognized Chinese physicist. They looked worried. Goldfinger called back, “I will admit that your confirmation of another agent is... disturbing. I want that man. Give me his name!”  
Goldfinger’s belligerence was impressive but Solo could not give what he didn’t know. “I only know about Operation Grand Slam.”  
“Those code words are simply two words you may have overheard which cannot possibly have any significance to you or anyone in your organization.”  
“Can you afford to take that chance?” Solo countered, his life at stake. Worse, his manhood!

An ugly look came over Goldfinger’s face. Solo felt the burn close to his skin. Panic was setting in!  
Suddenly the lights dimmed in the control room and the beam shut off. Goldfinger stood frozen as his assistants hurried to find the problem. Solo let out a deep breath he didn’t realize he was holding.  
“This is your lucky day Mr. Solo. A simple power failure. But you may be worth more to me alive.”

One of Goldfinger’s assistants approached and Solo tugged at his bindings as the man pointed a gun at his abdomen and fired. Solo sank into a deep sleep.

**********


	8. Chapter 8

#### Act VIII – _“You do like a close shave, don’t you?”_

Once again, Solo woke slowly. This was becoming tiresome. Fading into his vision were the now familiar blue eyes. An accented voice behind the blue eyes acknowledged, “Illya Kuryakin. You remember yes?”  
Solo smiled “I remember, yes.”  
Suddenly Solo, remembering his last vision, felt his stomach for a bullet hole but found none. “I thought I’d wake up dead.”

Kuryakin, went back to studying navigational papers scattered over a desk across from him as he replied, “Tranquilizer gun.”  
“I see. Well, I’m delighted to be here.” Sitting in a plush swivel chair, Solo turned to inspect his new environment just as he noticed he was unrestrained. It appeared to be a narrow cabin of some sort, several plush chairs bolted to the carpeted floor and Kuryakin’s desk also bolted. He also noticed everything was in gold trim. Excellent taste in design, lavish use of materials – Goldfinger’s?  
“And by the way, where is here?”  
“Thirty-five thousand feet flying south-west over Newfoundland.”  
“Ah, that explains the humming.” Solo rubbed his aching forehead.

Kuryakin continued the study of his papers, “Yes, the humming means you’re in Mr. Goldfinger’s Lockheed Jet Star heading for Baltimore, Maryland. And that you are to be his guest.”  
“I’m honored. I never realized that he enjoyed my company that much.”  
The Russian looked up with a wicked glance, “Hmm. I don’t suppose that it will be all fun and games.”

Noticing Solo’s headache, Kuryakin looked to the back of the plane and called, “Mei Lei.” He then seemed to give instructions in what sounded like a Chinese dialect.  
A beautiful petit young lady dressed oriental style approached, “Can I do anything for you Mr. Solo?”  
Grateful, Solo looked from the Russian to the oriental and thought he was in heaven. Smiling he said, “Ahh, yes. A drink please. A martini, shaken not stirred.”  
The young lady bowed and left to do his bidding. He could get used to this.

He turned back to Kuryakin, who was wrapping up his papers. He noticed the ugly burn mark on his neck was fading. “As I’m here. And you’re here. Won’t you join me?”  
“Not while I am on duty. I am Mr. Goldfinger’s personal pilot.”

Surprised at yet another interesting achievement to the already accomplished Mr. Kuryakin, Solo couldn’t help it as a bit of accusation crept into his voice. “You are? And just how personal is that?”  
Kuryakin stood calmly without any outward reaction to this question except a flash in the blue eyes. “I am a pilot Mr. Solo. Period.”  
“Don’t get huffy, Mr. Kuryakin. Just asking my little questions.” Napoleon had noted the insult and that they were back to formal names. Ah well it couldn’t be helped as he was continually confounded by the puzzle of the man before him. Every time something tempted him to trust Kuryakin, he discovered more mystery. And, as he reminded himself, he trusted no one. “By the way, just where is our host?”  
Kuryakin looked out one of the windows, “He flew on ahead.”

Mei Lei returned with a glass on a golden serving tray. Solo took the drink graciously, “Thank you, my dear.” But when he turned back, Kuryakin was still a million miles away in thought. Solo thought he needed to push the Russian while he might have an advantage. Watching him closely, Solo raised his glass in a toast “Here’s to Operation Grand Slam.”  
Kuryakin took no notice of the reference that Solo could see but he thought that may be a common obstacle with this man. The personal pilot merely turned and opened the cockpit door revealing an impressive array of highly technical controls. Before exiting, he took the time to look over his shoulder.  
“By the way Mr. Solo, let us hope that there is not another power failure while we are in flight.”

Solo spit out his drink in shock. He looked up but by then the Russian was already on the working side of the door. Was it possible this man knew something about Solo’s near-death experience with the laser? Was Kuryakin responsible or simply a bystander in Goldfinger’s games? Solo found he still had too many questions.

**********

An hour later in the cockpit, Kuryakin checked his watch and used the ship’s intercom. “Mr. Solo, we will be landing in Baltimore, our port of entry into the United States, in 55 minutes.”  
Solo stretched and left the comfortable chair. “Mei Lei, I would like to arrive more ah appropriately dressed. Did any of my luggage survive with me?”

The young lady immediately bent down to a lower compartment and removed a suitcase.  
“And my attaché case?”  
Mei Lei smiled, “Attaché case damaged when examined. So sorry.”  
“Well, the apology is quite unnecessary. These things happen.”

Mei Lei opened a door to a back room that appeared to be a luxurious wash room. Solo entered, closing the door after him.  
A warning light came on in the front cockpit. Kuryakin noticed and switched on the call phone to the back. “Mei Lei, please keep watch on Mr. Solo. Make sure he stays out of trouble.”  
Mei Lei tried her best to follow Mr. Kuryakin’s orders but at every peep hole she used the dark-haired gentleman invariably found a way to block her sight. Frustrated she went to retrieve her gun to make sure he behaved.

Solo knew he had little time for privacy as he quickly removed the small homing device from his shaver, activated it, and slipped it into the bottom of his shoe. Refreshed and cleaned up he opened the door only to find the woman pointing a gun at him.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Mr. Solo. And this is not a tranquilizer.” Mei Lei had the gun pointed directly at Solo, her hand steady.  
Kuryakin came out of the cockpit in time to hear the young lady’s orders.

Solo spoke directly to her as he relaxed carelessly against the counter, “Now Mei Lei, maybe you know a lot more about guns than planes but that is a Smith & Wesson 45. If you fired at this close a range the bullet would pass through me and into the fuselage like a blow torch through butter. The cabin will decompress and we’ll both be sucked into outer space together. If that is how you want to enter the United States, you’re welcome to it. As for me, I prefer the traditional method.” 

Kuryakin had come up quietly behind the oriental woman and easily relieved her of the weapon. “Yes, well, I am sure the young lady meant no harm to you Mr. Solo, however I would be very upset if my plane did not land as planned.”  
Solo was impressed at how smoothly Kuryakin handled the situation.  
Mei Lei bowed to Kuryakin and moved back.

Solo sat back down again in one of the comfortable chairs. “You seem to be making a habit of coming to my rescue, Illya. Under the circumstances why don’t you call me Napoleon…. again.”  
“You do like a close shave, don’t you?” The Russian took a quick look back at Mei Lei. “However, I don’t believe that that would be sensible. We will be landing in twenty minutes.”

Solo wondered at Kuryakin’s edginess. Noticing Mei Lei’s look, he also wondered if the man could be as under surveillance as he was? “I have total confidence in your expertise, Mr. Kuryakin. And besides there is always so much going on around Mr. Goldfinger, I wouldn’t dream of not accepting his hospitality.”  
“And I am sure he will be very glad to see you too.”  
The U.N.CL.E. agent did not miss the devilish grin on Kuryakin as he slipped back into the cockpit.

Solo pondered. Kuryakin was being watched carefully yet he did seem to have some freedom. Goldfinger suspected another spy, someone within his organization – another agent he said. One that Goldfinger was hard pressed to find but considered very dangerous. It could be Kuryakin but it would be very risky to have taken an undercover position so dangerously close to Goldfinger. In this deadly game Solo wished he knew for certain who this unknown agent was.  
He sipped his refreshed Martini and contemplated that twice now the mysterious Mr. Kuryakin had saved his life. He found he was enjoying this new comradeship but he fervently hoped he would not have to repay Mr. Kuryakin by killing him.  
His thoughts then turned to a more pleasurable topic as he looked to the back of the plane and a smiling Mei Lei.

**********

Back in U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters, New York the disembodied voice of his personal assistant interrupted Mr. Waverly as he was reading over multiple files. “Washington, sir, on the green line.”  
“Yes, thank you ah Miss Moneypenny.” Putting down his files, the older gentleman switched on the communicator. “Go ahead.”  
“Agent Lieder here sir.”  
“Ah yes Mr. Lieder.”  
“It’s about Mr. Solo sir. We’ve picked up his homing signal. It’s monitored into Baltimore International Airport where he’s just landed.  
“Baltimore you say? Well nice of him to let us know. The last we heard he was in Switzerland.”  
“He came in on a private jet exiting Geneva registered to our old friend Auric Goldfinger. The pilot that registered the flight plan was listed as one I.N. Kuryakin.”  
“Very interesting. Again this Mr. Kuryakin. Well, I’m glad Mr. Solo is making progress.”  
“Their flight plan gives Blue Grass Field, Kentucky as their final destination.”  
“Don’t charge in and spoil anything, will you. He’s evidently well on top of this affair at the moment.”  
“Yes sir.”  
“Keep me informed Mr. Lieder.”

**********


	9. Chapter 9

#### Act IX – _“I trust Illya gave you a smooth flight over here?”_

Sometime later the jet plane taxied onto a small private airfield in Kentucky and came to a gentle stop comfortably inside one of the open hangers. Mei Lei was on hand to open the hatch and release the stairs. Bowing to Mr. Solo she followed him down to the ground. The agent stalled at the foot of the stairs waiting for Kuryakin. The pilot soon followed his passengers. Solo could see Kuryakin was exhausted after the long flight and whatever other duties he had performed before they left Geneva.

Kuryakin tilted his head. “Did the flight meet with your expectations, Mr. Solo?”  
Looking over at the retreating figure of the exotic Mei Lei, Solo grinned, “Yes Mr. Kuryakin it did. The landing was also perfect.”  
“Hmmm. I can see that you are a true opportunist, Mr. Solo.”  
Solo chuckled.

They both walked companionably towards the open hanger door. Solo stood by as he heard Kuryakin speak quickly in Chinese to Mei Lei, rubbing his neck in tension. The flight had been a long one and there had been little respite without a co-pilot.  
Solo, waiting outside for Kuryakin to catch up, noticed several small single engine planes flying overhead. As he watched, the planes performed perfectly controlled loops; one after another. Impressive.  
As Kuryakin walked up, Solo pointed up, “Talented chaps.”  
“Yes of course. I trained them.” Kuryakin kept walking. Solo hurried to catch up.  
“You’re a man of many talents, Mr. K. Maybe we will get the opportunity to explore those and other areas while I’m here.”  
“No, I think not.” Kuryakin had stopped, looking over at a parked car. There, waiting for Solo, was Oddjob in his bowler hat and a few Thrush guards.  
The U.N.C.L.E. agent looked back at the Russian, looking for betrayal, but he saw nothing in the stark blue eyes. After all, what had Solo expected?  
As they watched, Oddjob opened the back door and motioned for Solo to enter beside the guards. With no other option, Solo did as he was bid. He leaned out the window looking to Kuryakin, “You know he kills people with his hat.”  
“Well, that’s the spy business for you. You can’t trust anyone,” the blonde replied softly.

Solo wondered at the Russian’s words but the car was soon moving out, leaving Kuryakin behind.

**********

The state of Kentucky; it is said to be the land of beautiful women, fast horses, and good whisky. Also, it is the home of the famous Fort Knox.

Solo was driven down a private road, the sign on the gate said, **_‘Auric Stud Farm.’_** The farm was indeed impressive. Several horses were racing inside a massive well-kept workout track. The nearby row of stables were alive with much activity. There were several small buildings, a few barns in the distance, and a large plantation house grandly standing in front. Goldfinger was there to greet Solo.

“Welcome to Auric, Mr. Solo.” A sly smile came across Goldfinger’s face. He was dressed in ‘Country Squire’ casual with gold trim and waist coat, watching one of his horses being paraded around for him.  
“I trust Illya and Mei Lei gave you a smooth flight over here?”  
Solo merely looked around, keeping his thoughts on a certain Russian to himself.

Frustrated that he would get no response from the U.N.C.L.E. agent, Goldfinger pointed to one of the horses nearby, “Lovely animal, isn’t he? I own many fine animals, Mr. Solo.” A sly small smile crept onto the owner’s face, as he wiped spittle off his wet lips. He spoke softly for Solo’s ears only, “They are for my own pleasure and amusement, you see. They are, definitely, not for the guests.”  
His eyes penetrating as he watched for a reaction.  
Solo was sickened by the man and his tactics. “They certainly seem better bred than the owner.”  
Goldfinger’s face darkened sharply. Solo hoped this would not reflect back on Illya or Mei Lei. Goldfinger spoke to Oddjob, “Show Mr. Solo to his quarters.”  
The Manservant pointed the way, staying carefully behind the agent. Solo was quickly re-directed as he was herded away from the main house and driven to dark stairs leading downward under the ground. _‘This was quite a change in treatment,’_ Solo thought. The walls were solid rock and very quiet. Solo was shown to a thick door opening onto a room that could only be called a jail. Shoved in the windowless room, the door was locked after him. Solo sat down on the single cot with nothing to do but wait.

**********

Several miles away two U.N.C.L.E. agents waited beside a radar screen, the homing device busily blinking Solo’s stationary location. “Felix…?”  
Agent Lieder turned to his worried partner,  
“Maybe we should just drop in on him. See if he’s okay?”  
But Felix was confident, “He’ll shout if he needs us.”

**********

A young male secretary entered Goldfinger’s office. “All your other guests are here Mr. Goldfinger.”  
Goldfinger was deep in thought as he read Mei Lee’s detailed report on the recent flight from Geneva. His Russian pet was playing a curious game.  
“Eh? Oh yes, yes, thank you Kisch. I’ll come straight away.”

In the large conference facility on the back property, several men in business suits lounged around. The seating was comfortable, the drink abundant, even a pool table while they waited. But one man was restless with the waiting. The room was becoming increasingly tense.

“That guy, Fleming, is going to wear a hole in his shoes,” one man whispered to another, watching the tall, slender gentleman pacing the room. “He sure doesn’t like being here.”  
“Gentlemen!” Goldfinger called loudly to the room of men, as he walked boldly into the center.  
The room exploded in questions, “Goldfinger! Why weren’t we told that New York and the West Coast were in on this?”  
“Look who’s talking!” yelled the West Coast man.  
“I do not do business with Europe,” demanded New York.  
“I thought we had a private business deal to settle. Now I find I’m attending a thug’s convention,” claimed the European.  
“Goldfinger, I made a delivery. Where is my money?!” yelled the one called Fleming.  
“I made a delivery too!” called out others.

“You all made the deliveries we contracted for,” Goldfinger acknowledged to the group at large.  
“And you owe me one million bucks!” Fleming replied speaking for himself.  
Goldfinger smiled, “I owe each of you a million – in gold bullion.”  
“So pay!”  
“Gentlemen, you can have the million today – or ten million tomorrow!”  
“Did you say ten million?” Disbelief clouded the West Coast voice.  
Goldfinger nodded. “As soon as my bank opens in the morning.”  
“Banks don’t open on Sunday,” Ian Fleming claimed testily.  
“My bank will.”

Goldfinger laughed as he flipped a switch under the pool table. Immediately the table inverted and the floor underneath moved – turning the table into a control panel. As the men all watched, Goldfinger quickly flipped some switches. Activated, the windows were suddenly shuttered blocking out the light making the men inside very nervous.  
“What are you trying to pull Goldfinger?!”

A light on a screen at one end of the room caught everyone’s attention.  
“There is no cause for alarm, gentlemen.” Goldfinger moved over to the screen now showing a map of an unknown urban area. He retrieved one of the pool sticks and pointed to a single large building in the center of the screen. The building was exceptional only as to its size and its isolation to anything nearby.

“This is my bank, the gold depository at Fort Knox, gentlemen.” The room was deadly silent. “In its vaults are fifteen billion dollars. The entire gold supply of the United States.”  
“Knock off Fort Knox?” The men began to laugh and make jokes. “Got a key or something?”  
Goldfinger calmly responded, “Of a kind.”  
” There are thirty-five thousand troops stationed around there,” one man called out.  
Goldfinger corrected him as he walked back to the controls, “Forty-one thousand.”  
Fleming shouted. “And who is going to say ‘boo’ to them Goldfinger?”  
Suddenly Goldfinger flipped another switch and the floor under the men began to shift causing them to near panic. Up rose a miniature model of a building, a representation of Fort Knox accurate to the smallest detail. “Man has climbed Mt. Everest, gone to the bottom of the ocean. He has fired rockets at the moon, split the atom, and achieved miracles in every field of human endeavor – except CRIME!”

**********

Solo paced his very quiet cell. Outside sat a vigilant Thrush guard. Solo brazenly waved through the small window in the door at the guard. He paced back and forth a few times, the guard watching the window, tracking the prisoner without blinking. Passing several times, Solo each time looked out at the guard and waved.  
Suddenly he stopped, frozen in front of the window. Turning a sly grin to the guard, he seemed to slowly sink, below the window.  
After several seconds, the guard was puzzled – what happened to the prisoner? Slowly he stood up to investigate what could have happened. Approaching the door, he looked in but the room appeared empty. Pulling out his gun, the guard kicked in the door. It was obvious no one was behind the door but also no one was in the room. “Where…?” Suddenly Solo fell down from the rafter of the overhead ceiling, landing on top of the guard. A swift kick and the guard was out cold. Solo quickly dropped the guards hand-gun in his pocket and was locking the man in the cell in his place.  
Cautiously walking the underground hallway, Solo followed the sound of angry voices.

**********

“You’re wasting my time Goldfinger,” demanded Fleming. “The depository’s impregnable.”  
Another man stood, “Look. The joint is bomb proof, electrified, lousy with…”  
“Wait!” Goldfinger interrupted. Pointing to the model in the center of the room, “Fort Knox is a bank like any other. Larger, better protected perhaps but none the less a bank. It can be, I think the expression is, blown! My plan is fool proof, gentlemen.”  
Unseen by the audience, Solo found himself beneath the model looking out one of the windows into the upper conference room. The hallway had led him to an underground chamber, seemingly underneath the meeting room. Curious, Solo moved a step stool under what looked like the under-side of a model of a building. Stepping up and looking through the tiny windows, he saw a large room filled with about 20 men, some he recognized as Thrush, some he did not. Solo listened as Goldfinger continued his persuasion.  
“I call it Operation Grand Slam. I have devoted 15 years of my life to this. Every detail has been scrupulously prepared.” While the madman talked, Solo moved quickly under the model, grabbing a scrap of paper and a piece of dark chalk.  
“Every eventuality has been considered. We operate on a split-second schedule. Your organization, Mr. Midnight, brought a consignment of these canisters across the Canadian border.” Solo saw the older man hold up a gold tube the size of a small missile and hurried to copy notes as he listened. “They contain Delta-Nine. This is an invisible nerve gas which disperses within 15 minutes and induces complete unconsciousness for 24 hours. Tomorrow at dawn several planes under the direction of my personal pilot, Kuryakin, will spray the gas into the atmosphere.”  
Solo wrote as he listened, pausing only when he heard Illya’s name as a co-conspirator in this deadly plot. The note read:

_**Solo to U.N.C.L.E.  
Aerial nerve gas  
Proceeds dawn raid Fort Knox  
Tomorrow.** _

Solo hesitated but grimly added,  


_**Stop Kuryakin at all costs.** _

He bowed his head at the nasty business he was in.

Goldfinger continued, “Once the population, including the military, have been immobilized, my task force, which includes Mr. Strafford’s highly trained Thrush operatives, will approach Fort Knox in motorized vehicles along Bullion Blvd, which runs past the depository here and intersects with Gold Vault Road.” Goldfinger pointed out the parts of his plan using the model representation. “This fence surrounding the depository, as Mr. Seth reminded us, is electrified. It will be dynamited. My task force will then move to the main entrance and demolish it.”  
Mr. Fleming was having none of it, “How may I ask?”  
Goldfinger rubbed his meaty hands together, “You made that possible Mr. Fleming, by arranging your considerable influence in shipping circles to bring through customs an un-inspected consignment labeled ‘Machine Parts.’ All that will remain is to then descend to the vaults where the bullion is stored.”

Fleming boldly, if recklessly stomped forward, “I’ve heard enough!”  
“Let him finish…” one man called.  
Fleming interrupted, “If you have no objections, I’ll take my money now.”  
Goldfinger turned to stare at the agitated man, evaluating.  
“What’s the matter Fleming,” the New York Thrush operative mocked, “too big for you to handle?”  
“Say, wait a minute. Maybe Ian has a point.”

Goldfinger got a curious look on his face as he watched the skepticism grow. “Gentlemen, we must respect Mr. Fleming’s decision. Please excuse me for a few minutes while I take care of him. Stay in this room and make yourselves comfortable.”  
Solo watched as Goldfinger and Fleming left the room. Bending down, he quickly removed the homer from his shoe and wrapped it within the message, putting the bundle in his pocket. As he checked the room above one last time, he missed the soundless approach below.  
Abruptly strong hands pulled his legs out from under him dropping Solo like a stone. Instantly he was twisted in a tight circle and was thrown against a wall. Solo quickly turned for attack only to be surprised that it had been Kuryakin’s hands that had overpowered him. He was also dismayed to see the ever-present Oddjob watching in the background and the secretary Kisch skulking behind him. The curious thing was that they were watching Kuryakin not Solo. And also odd was that Kuryakin sported a black eye. But so did Oddjob.

Kuryakin looked sharply at Solo, more exasperated than dangerous.  
Solo quickly recovered into a casual stance as it became clear that the room was now filled with Thrush guards. The casual mask also hid his dark thoughts at Kuryakin’s act of betrayal. So, he finally knew which side the Russian was on. “Well, well Mr. K. Once again we meet in less than pleasant circumstances.”  
Kuryakin approached with his hand out. “The gun, Mr. Solo, if you please.” Seeing the U.N.C.L.E. agent hesitate he added, “Surly it is not yet time for desperation.”  
Napoleon shook himself as he took the time to ponder Kuryakin’s words. Was the Russian giving him sound words of advice or were they simply the devious words of a betrayer. “Oh yes …. the gun.” Solo removed the captured Thrush gun, being careful not to lose the critical note still in his pocket.  
Kuryakin took it and pointedly handed it to a guard. He motioned for Solo to follow him. Napoleon reached out and took Illya’s chin turning his face to show off the developing shiner in better light. “Run into a brick wall?”  
“Of a sort. But you should see the wall.” Kuryakin jerked his head away and continued down the hall.  
Solo noticed a look that passed between the secretary and Oddjob as they watched over Kuryakin’s every action. “Well you couldn’t have picked a more pleasant welcoming committee, Mr. K.,” he called as he followed deep in thought. Goldfinger’s pet may have a bad habit of betraying more than one side in this affair.

**********

As they left, the personal secretary, Kisch, stayed behind. He quietly closed the air-tight doors behind them sealing in the conference room, his face devoid of any emotion. Solo caught Kuryakin’s uneasy look back, but was pushed forward by Oddjob.  
The metal doors sealed with a solid thud. Kisch then silently turned to a bank of controls. He switched on a camera showing him the men still patiently waiting up in the conference room. Kisch listened in on their prattle;  
“Hey Stratford. Goldfinger’s got the right attitude.”  
“Yeah. We don’t even have to be there. The boys can handle everything.”  
“Then afterwards, we take over!”

Kisch carefully placed a gas-mask tightly over his head. With a small smile he pushed a blinking button on the consul.  
Instantly things began to happen in the conference room. Metal walls came down over the windows sealing out the light – swish. Thick steel slammed over the doorways – thud. Sealing the room. A panel rose out of the pool table, fitted with several of the gas canisters they were previously inspecting. The men heard the ominous hiss of gas.  
“Hey what’s going on here?!”  
“The gas….!!”  
The men began to quickly panic. Some fell, some made a run for it but there was nowhere to go. Very soon the room became deadly quiet. Kisch smothered a quick laugh, satisfied.

**********


	10. Chapter 10

#### Act X – _“You’re as dirty as he is!”_

Outside the big house on the front drive, one of the Thrush guards was busy loading gold bricks from a skip loader into a metal box in the trunk of a sedan. Goldfinger walked the Thrush criminal to the car. “Such a pity you did not choose to remain with the others Mr. Fleming. However….”

Kuryakin walked up with Solo close beside and Oddjob just behind them both.  
“Ah… Mr. Solo. I thought you were resting in your quarters.”  
“Well, they are delightful but it is much too nice a day to stay indoors. I ran into Mr. Kuryakin and his friends.” Solo pointedly glared at Kuryakin. “He suggested that we join you.”  
Goldfinger seemed to give Kuryakin a decidedly long look. Then he turned to the man beside him, “Mr. Fleming this is Mr. Solo. Another of my distinguished guests.”  
“Leaving us so soon Mr. Fleming?” Solo asked with bold casualness.  
Goldfinger answered for the departing Fleming, “Unfortunately he has a pressing engagement.” Solo saw Goldfinger smile at this as if he had made a joke.  
“Yes, I’d like to get started Goldfinger.”  
“Well, when you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go,” Solo remarked flippantly but covered himself as he moved in closer to the car, opening the back door for Fleming.

“My plane will get you to New York on time….” Goldfinger said playing the gracious host.  
Solo used Goldfinger’s parting words as a distraction as he quickly slipped his urgent message and tracker into Fleming’s pocket.  
“….. along with your excess luggage. The gold of course.”  
Fleming was not amused and quickly seated himself in the car.  
“Allow me,” Solo helpfully closed the car door.  
“My chauffeur is an excellent driver,” Goldfinger waved Oddjob into the driver’s seat. “You will be at the airport in a few minutes.”  
That suited Solo’s needs exactly but he couldn’t help thinking about the note and the directive to kill Kuryakin that was plainly printed in the message now on its way to U.N.C.L.E. And that Waverly would carry out the instructions with the utmost deadly efficiency. Solo glanced back at Kuryakin.  
“Goodbye Mr. Fleming. Some other time perhaps,” Goldfinger called.  
“Happy landings, old boy,” mumbled Solo as the car drove off.

The personal secretary had come up silently to the group. “Did Mr. Kuryakin tell you we found Mr. Solo under the model listening in?” Kisch sounded accusatory but whether at Solo or Kuryakin it would be hard to say. Goldfinger seemed to be having the same thought also.  
“Operation Grand Slam. I did enjoy your briefing.” Solo quipped recklessly.  
Goldfinger looked thoughtful but said only, “So did I.” He then turned to his secretary. “Kisch, take Mr. Solo back to his cell and see that he is adequately protected.” Putting his hand out, he held Kuryakin’s arm in a strong grasp. “Oh no, Illya. You will stay with me for a while, yes?”  
“Of course.”

Solo was shoved away but he didn’t miss the look of trouble in Goldfinger’s eyes as he held the gaze of the blonde.  
What surprised Solo was the evil jealousy that showed so clearly on Kisch’s face as they made their way back down the stairs. “You don’t like Mr. Kuryakin very much do you Kisch?” Solo didn’t miss Kisch’s clenched fist but unfortunately the gun aimed at him didn’t waver.  
“Ever since he came, things have changed.”  
“Kuryakin and Oddjob seem to have a matching pair of shiners.”  
Kisch’s eyes glazed over, “Yes Oddjob doesn’t like him either. He tried to teach him a lesson. Kuryakin’s trouble. He’s always sneaking around. Goldfinger’s brilliant but he’s blinded by his Russian comrade.”  
“So, you’re no longer the favorite pet?” Solo needled.  
“No, I am not,” Kisch said as a dark look of menace came into his eyes as he licked his lips, “but I will be again soon.”  
As Kisch walked him back to his cell, Solo wondered again what game Kuryakin was playing, and that the game was becoming very dangerous for the blonde, whether from Goldfinger’s group or from U.N.C.L.E., Solo didn’t see much of a future for him.

**********

The sedan was soon making its way through town past the U.N.C.L.E. stake-out vehicle on duty watching for Solo. Inside the U.N.C.L.E. car, one of the agents soon noticed that Solo’s homer was on the move and going right past them. He urgently honked for Felix, “He’s on the move!” The agents quickly jumped into their car to follow. It was soon apparent on the tracking radar that their target was moving out of town.  
“Slow down, don’t crowd them,” Felix warned the other agent.

Mr. Fleming was seated behind the silent Oddjob, pleased that he had made the decision to leave. Seeing the turn-off for the airport he asked, “Are you blind or something, you missed the turn!” Oddjob took no notice. They soon turned off onto a dirt road leaving any traffic behind. Fleming leaned forward, fear gripping him. Oddjob calmly took out his gun, leaned back, and shot the man dead. Then he turned back in his seat and drove a bit further along the road. 

Inside the U.N.C.L.E. car, Felix was getting concerned, “They’ve turned off on the right. Behind us somewhere.” The agent slammed the brakes and backtracked to make the same turn.  
“Just where is this old pal of yours headed?”  
Felix smiled “Ten will get you one it’s either a drink or a dame.”

Oddjob soon turned off the road into a lot called _**‘Auric Iron and Metal Company – Scrap Metal for Sale.’**_ He drove deep between several tall piles of scrap and calmly got out of the car and walked away. Soon a crane dropped down from the sky and grabbed the car by the roof, crushing it in its steel claws. The sound of the winch struggled as it raised the car high into the air only to drop it into a waiting steel box. The car landed with a crash. Slowly the sides of the box rose up and began to close, bit by bit, around the car, crushing it. When done, all that was left was a 3foot-by-3foot square of metal. This was picked up by another crane and loaded onto a truck that Oddjob stood beside, patiently waiting. He then drove away.

The agents in the U.N.C.L.E. car were busy trying to adjust the radar equipment after they had inexplicably lost the homer’s signal. “Dead.”  
“Mechanical failure maybe?”  
“Unless he switched it off,” wondered Felix.  
“Why would he do that?”  
Felix sighed. “Drive back to the Farm. It’s all we can do.”  
“Right.”  
Unbeknownst to the agents, Oddjob passed them at that moment with his load.

**********

One of the servants served two tall glasses of iced mint juleps made special to Goldfinger’s tastes. The older man reached for his glass, Kuryakin did not. They were both sitting out in his private patio. Kuryakin watched as the older man lit one of his special cigars, the simple task made him wary.

“Your share of Operation Grand Slam will make you a very rich man, Illya.”  
“Why else would I be in this Goldfinger.”  
“Call me Auric. You know it pleases me.” Missing the blonde’s frown, he continued as he rubbed his hands together in nervous energy. “You will retire to Russia I suppose?”  
Illya looked off to the distance. “No. I’ve spotted a little island in the Bahamas. I’ll hang out a sign.” Emphasizing the words, Illya leaned back in his chair away from the table, irritating the dangerous man across from him. “It will say _‘No trespassing’_.”

“You are always so aloof, so distant. You make me concerned about your loyalty!” The older man’s beefy hand grabbed Illya’s thigh and squeezed tight making the blond wince. With a sly smile he continued. “It would be well for you to remember your benefactor.”  
“I will have earned my pay.”

Goldfinger slammed his hand on the table in frustration and both men glared at each other. Unreasonably, the Thrush leader then began to laugh as he watched the intriguing Illya play a deadly game with him. But the laugh was short lived as his thoughts ran through several scenarios concerning his little blonde Russian – he was so cold yet so very hot it nearly drove him insane. Yes, he would have to think more on Illya. Abruptly Goldfinger looked over Illya’s shoulder and gave a pre-arranged signal.  
Two thugs suddenly wrapped thick tape around Kuryakin’s arms, efficiently restraining him to the chair, his arms trapped helplessly. At a look from Goldfinger, the two men pinned open Kuryakin’s left hand – palm up. The young blonde twisted and struggled but to no avail – he was effectively imprisoned and could only await his ‘punishment’ as Goldfinger would see fit.

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” the younger Russian glared.  
Goldfinger’s eyes glinted, the gaze becoming disconnected and cold. Kuryakin had seen this look before when he had witnessed his employer’s insanity in the past. Goldfinger rose and stood over him, the lit cigar a weapon in his hand. “That matter’s not, my pet. If I believed that you had already betrayed me you would be dead.”  
Slowly he pressed the burning tip down on the palm of Kuryakin’s hand, an ugly red blister spread, spilling small drops of blood onto the ground. Perspiration rose on the young Russian’s face as he cringed in pain.  
Finally, Goldfinger moved away. “No screams my little pet? You know how much I love the sound of screams.” He harshly grabbed Illya’s chin, the man gasping for breath in raging pain. Goldfinger stroked Illya’s cheek softly, possessively. In another flash of madness, Goldfinger struck out with a vicious fist striking Kuryakin across the face, rendering him unconscious.  
The Thrush leader returned to the table and refreshed himself, mildly sipping his drink, oblivious to the aftermath of his violence sitting beside him.

Kisch lurched up onto the patio beside his brooding superior. “Excuse me sir.”  
Goldfinger sighed and pulled himself together, “Yes Kisch?”  
“There are two men outside the fence in a car with binoculars.”  
“Tourists looking for racing tips, most probably.” Unfortunately, the two U.N.C.L.E. agents were spotted as they tried to get a line on Solo’s status. Goldfinger had an excellent instinct for danger. “There is another possibility however. Kisch, ask Mr. Solo to join us.” The assistant left, but not without a glare at the body slumped in the next chair.  
Turing to the unconscious Kuryakin, Goldfinger got a strange look in his eyes. “We were quite right to spare Mr. Solo’s life in Switzerland if those gentlemen are his friends. Let’s convince them that he needs no assistance.” Goldfinger smiled an especially devious smile at his silent employee.  
He then gave orders to the guards. “Take him up to his room. Be gentle with him lads. When he comes to, tell him his presence is required on the front portico.” The two thugs quietly, almost meekly, released the limp man and carried Kuryakin back into the house. Goldfinger sat back down and finished his drink but not before pouring Kuryakin’s untouched cocktail into a nearby bush.

**********

Solo was lounging on the cot in his cell, seemingly unperturbed as a Thrush guard sat two feet away from him with his rifle pointed directly at him. Or as a second Thrush guard sat two feet from him with his gun aimed, or the guard standing beside him, or the two guards standing just inside the cell door. Goldfinger was taking no chances with him this time. Solo sighed.  
Kisch startled him as he stepped quietly into the cell “He wants you.”

Felix and his partner were startled as they saw their compatriot walk unfettered and healthy, to the porch at the front of the main house. He seemed to be welcomed by the owner of the mansion himself.

Solo was greeted in a friendly manner by Goldfinger but, as he looked around, he noticed no sign of Kuryakin. Kisch lingered close by but was not offered a seat. “Ah Mr. Solo sit down please. Would you like a mint julep?”  
“Yes, I believe I would.” Solo turned to the servant giving directions that altered Goldfinger’s favored drink to meet his own tastes. “And not too sweet please.”  
Solo continued to stand, feeling restless and unable to stop himself from wondering what had happened between this man and Kuryakin. “What have you done with your Russian watch dog?”  
The controlled leader smiled, “He will join us soon, Mr. Solo, have no fear. But you have no allies here. You never did.”  
Angry at the lapse of his own judgment Solo lashed out, “You disappoint me Goldfinger. You know Operation Grand Slam simply won’t work. And incidentally Delta-Nine nerve gas is very definitely fatal.”  
“You are unusually well-informed Mr. Solo.” Goldfinger wondered not for the first time where the U.N.C.L.E. agent got his information. Was he truly in contact with the other unknown agent?!

Solo continued to press. “If you go through with this, you’ll kill 60 thousand people uselessly.”  
Goldfinger scoffed, “American motorists kill that many every two years.”  
The servant handed Solo his drink. “Thank you. Yes well…I’ve worked out a few statistics of my own. Fifteen billion dollars in gold bullion weighs ten thousand-five hundred tons. Sixty men would take twelve days to load it onto two hundred trucks. Now at the most you’re going to have two hours before the Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines move in and make you put it back.” Solo finally sat having made his point.

Goldfinger smiled largely, “Who mentioned anything about moving it?”  
Solo paused in mid-drink.  
Eyeing the agent, Goldfinger asked politely, “Is the julep sweet enough for you?”  
But the agent wasn’t listening. Something Kuryakin had said earlier struck him. “You plan to break into the world’s largest bank but not to steal anything.” The agent set his glass down and sat back in thought. “Why?”  
Goldfinger was enjoying himself immensely. “Go on Mr. Solo. Go on.”  
“Mr. Ling, the Red Chinese manager at the factory, he’s a specialist in nuclear fission.” Solo froze at the thought, “But of course! You’ve got a bomb!”

“I’d prefer to call it an atomic device. It’s small but particularly dirty.”  
“A Cobalt Isotope?”  
Goldfinger nodded. “Precisely.”  
“Well if you explode it in Fort Knox the…..” Solo looked over at Goldfinger “… the entire gold supply of the United States will be radioactive for fifty-seven years.  
“Fifty-eight to be exact, Mr. Solo.”

“I apologize Goldfinger. It’s an inspired deal. Thrush gets what they want – economic chaos in the West. And the value of your own gold increases many times.”  
“I conservatively estimate ten times.” Goldfinger had a wolfish grin on his face that would not be denied.  
“Brilliant. But the atomic device as you call it is already in this country, obviously.”  
“Obviously.”  
“Bringing it to Fort Knox undetected could be risky, very risky. “  
“On the contrary Mr. Solo, the risk is all on your side. If the authorities should attempt to locate it who knows where it might explode, eh? Perhaps downtown New York? Cape Kennedy? Perhaps the lawn of the White House? But we are speculating idly. Operation Grand Slam will be successful. You will be there to see for yourself.” The shark smile appeared. “Too close for comfort I am afraid.”

In the background, Solo noticed Kisch rose from his spot on the steps as a truck drove up to the house. Oddjob was driving and there was a huge chunk of metal in the back. It was suddenly obvious now to Solo that it was the remains of a car. Flemings car.  
Goldfinger rose and moved down the steps to the truck. “Forgive me Mr. Solo but I must arrange to separate my gold from the late Mr. Fleming.”  
“As you said, he had a pressing engagement.” Solo mumbled under his breath. His heart sank as he realized his little note of warning to U.N.C.L.E. was now ‘pressed’ as well.

“Ah there you are Illya.” Goldfinger’s greeting pulled Solo out of his thoughts as Kuryakin came out of the house looking a bit disheveled. He also noticed a new bandage around the man’s left hand. “Illya, please take Mr. Solo on a tour of the farm for me. I’ll join you both later.”  
Goldfinger got into the truck and Oddjob drove off.

**********

“Well….” Illya looked uncomfortable as he felt Napoleon’s eyes watching him, a look that was decidedly not friendly. “…this way.” He motioned to a path beyond the house.  
“Of course, Mr. Kuryakin. How very accommodating. Only where do you hide your golden gun?”  
“I never carry Thrush weapons after business hours.”  
“So, I take it you’re off duty?”  
“I am off Goldfinger’s clock shall we say.” Kuryakin moved ahead onto a path that would take the two men to the outer most reaches of the farm. Wary, Solo followed.

Felix and the other U.N.C.L.E. agent watched as their fellow agent left the porch of the main house looking like he was going for a stroll.  
Felix relaxed. “That’s my Napoleon. He seems to have the situation well in hand. Come on I’m bushed, let’s get back to the motel.” And with that the two agents left to report in that all was well. 

“A beautiful place Goldfinger has here. All the comforts of home. And a cozy little group of murderers all under one roof.”  
“Stop this,” Illya hissed under his breath. “We must talk. There isn’t much time!”  
“All right then, let’s both stop this. I know all about you. I know about you and your boss’s whole dirty plot. You’re below contempt!” Napoleon was very angry.  
Illya took the accusations coolly.  
“I also know that the nerve gas kills,” Napoleon continued outraged. “What kind of man are you that you can be a part of this? You won’t get away with it, you know. U.N.C.L.E. knows a little about you; your education and degrees, your close association with your Russian partner Goldfinger. U.N.C.L.E. has had you under observation.”  
Turning away Illya muttered, “That seems to be quite a common past time.”

Napoleon wondered about Illya’s remark and the frustrated look behind it but ignored the fact as he thought of betrayal. “I know you are a key part of Goldfinger’s plot. I know that you will be a murderer if you aren’t already. You’re practically in bed with him,” Napoleon grabbed Illya’s arm harshly, “and you betrayed me to them!”  
But the Russian shook himself free, “Not out here. Wait until we are private...”  
They approached a deserted barn but Napoleon, deep in his sense of betrayal, could not stop goading the other man – misreading his request for privacy.  
“Well, well. What have we now?” Napoleon said as malice dripped from every word. “You’ve sold your soul to Goldfinger and now your soul is for hire to me? A whore to the end?”

As soon as they entered the barn, Illya slammed Napoleon against the inside wall. “You will stop interfering! There is too much at stake for you to continue this game.”  
Napoleon kneed the Russian in the stomach and quickly threw him over his shoulder. Illya landed hard but smoothly swung his legs up and tripped the American, tossing him into the hay. Both men rose, panting at the exertions.  
“You’re as dirty as he is. Worse. He’s insane. What’s your excuse? You just need the money?”  
“Enough! Do not speak of what you do not know.”  
Napoleon shied left only to jab the Russian in the right side. With a grunt of pain, Illya instantly twisted and chopped Napoleon on the back of the neck. The U.N.C.L.E. agent grabbed the blonde and swung him into a wall with a thud. Both dazed by the blows, they stood on unsteady legs bent over panting for breath. Napoleon was perplexed by Illya’s anger; it just didn’t make sense with what he knew. He was missing something.

It was then that Napoleon noticed the bandage around Illya’s hand had come free during their fighting. He saw a horrible burn injury on the palm. He reached out and gripped the wrist, holding tightly as the owner tried to pull back, and looked up into the blue eyes in question. He couldn’t keep the idea that he was missing something out of his mind. “As one of the enemy, you seem to have quite a number of accidents, Mr. Kuryakin.”  
With a jerk Illya retrieved his hand and tried to restore the bandage.  
“Here let me, you’re making a mess of it.” Napoleon took it from him and, with two hands, did a better job of it.

Illya turned his head to the door, as if he heard something. Speaking quickly, he whispered. “You said that U.N.C.L.E. knows about me, about my background. Then I refer you, Napoleon, to my particular choice of academic study.”  
“Study? Let’s see Quantum Phy….?! You mean Physics? As in nuclear physics? As in you are an expert in nuclear bombs? Goldfinger’s bomb?”  
The Russian moved away, pacing in restless energy. “Yes. My government sent me to investigate as soon as we discovered Fleming’s theft at one of the Soviet Union’s nuclear stockpiles. I traced Fleming to Goldfinger. The gold was always of secondary importance to us. You can see why, no?”  
“No, er yes.” Napoleon shook his head. Things were moving too fast. “Wait a minute, you’re…. you’re on our side?”

“There are no sides my friend, when faced with an atomic bomb. Only those that have it and those that want to disarm it. I will take a chance with you. You now know who I am and that makes me vulnerable.”  
“Illya, do you know where the bomb is? Can you dismantle it?”  
“Of course to the latter, I don’t know to the former.” Seeing Napoleon perplexed, Illya sighed as he explained. “It is an easy thing to dismantle this type of bomb but unfortunately I do not as yet know where he is keeping it. I am currently being watched very closely. Oddjob does not trust me and it seems your interest in me, my friend, is making Goldfinger very nervous.”  
“Yes, I’m sorry about that.” Napoleon said this with sincerity. He quietly regained the Russian’s hand and finished tying off the loose bandage.

“We must plan, Napoleon.”  
“Yes I know. How much can you move?”  
“Not at all.” Illya replied. He smiled slightly as he looked down at his captured hand.  
Napoleon looked down also. He still had the half-bandaged palm in his hand and chuckled. “No, not now. I mean in general.”  
“I can reconnoiter some, with care.”  
When he finished the first aid, Napoleon moved off to better watch the door. “So, you are with Soviet Intelligence? You are the other agent that Goldfinger was worried about?”  
“That is correct.”

Napoleon marveled, “And you were scoping out the factory the same time I was? You were the one that turned off the power on the laser?”  
Illya smirked, “Yes to both. But you owe me for that last part, I nearly got caught. That Cossack Kisch is very much like vermin. He is everywhere!”  
“Yes, I do owe you a great deal for that one.” Napoleon said remembering how close the laser had come. “But why did you turn me in at the conference room? I nearly signed your death warrant after that.”  
“I was in another part of the room, listening in. I spotted Kisch as soon as he spotted you and he went to Oddjob to report. I was only in time to make sure they captured you and didn’t kill you outright. Kisch later turned the Delta-Nine gas on the men in the room.”  
“Wow. You hang around a fine bunch of friends, don’t you? Well what now?”  
“It will not be easy but yes I have a plan.” But before he could explain, they both heard someone approach.

“Illya, you seem bruised?” Goldfinger held out his hand and slid his fingers across Illya’s cheek.  
“Yes Mr. Solo made me an offer to switch sides. I declined.” Kuryakin quickly distanced himself.  
“Ah yes, well come with me my pet. As for you Mr. Solo, very naughty! Kisch take Mr. Solo back to his cell.”

**********


	11. Chapter 11

#### Act XI – _“Oh my sainted mother.”_

Goldfinger’s private airfield was busy with activity early the next morning. A squadron of small single engine planes were made ready for takeoff, each with a small canister under each wing. The roar of the engines soon overwhelmed the peace of the morning as the pilots went through pre-flight protocols. Within the small control tower, several Thrush technicians were at the controls. Kuryakin was seated at the communication console with Goldfinger a strong presence pressing at his back. The over-sized Thrush Mastermind was edgy with charged energy as he reached out and captured Kuryakin’s shoulders,  
“Now my pet. Start My Plan now.”  
Kuryakin spoke into the transmitter to the planes, “Kuryakin to Squadron Leader. Commence Operation Delta-Nine.”  
_“Roger that Mr. Kuryakin. Squadron Leader out.”_  
The canisters, full with gas, were visible under the wings of the planes as they took off.  
The squadron Leader reported in, _“Speed two-two-zero. Wind checks westerly.”_  
“Roger that Squadron Leader.” Kuryakin turned to Goldfinger. “All is as it should be.” The older man nodded, transfixed. Unfortunately, Goldfinger had not left his side since the Operation began and Illya didn’t think he intended to. He felt his employer’s oppressive breath on the back of his neck as they watched Operation Grand Slam begin.

The planes were quickly approaching the air-space over Fort Knox. The huge building could be seen standing alone and open. Several military buildings could be seen nearby.  
_“Squadron Leader to Kuryakin; ready to commence dive now.”_  
Kuryakin looked around. Kisch had moved up behind him, his eyes boring a hole into Illya’s back. Several Thrush guards were also around. Illya looked up at Goldfinger; if they expected him to pull something there was no way he had any opportunity except to follow the plan.  
Goldfinger gave his nod. Kuryakin took a deep breath and gave the order. “Copy that Squadron Leader. You are cleared to go.”

_“Squad commence count down to spray, five, four, three, two, one.”_ The planes separated and each made passes over several areas, all leaving a misty trail of the gas. With each pass, military troops in the fields fell instantly, guards around the vault immediately passed out, soldiers marching between barracks all slipped to the ground. The planes flew back over the buildings and the vault itself; all personnel were collapsed.

Smiling, the pilot reported in, _“Squadron Leader to Kuryakin. The target is down. I repeat the target is all quiet. Squad returning to base. Out.”_  
Goldfinger smiled a chilling smile, squeezing the younger man’s shoulders. “Good job my pet, good job. Now you will take me to the site.”  
“Of course.”

**********

Back on the radio, Goldfinger gave the signal to the task force. “Oddjob off you go now with Mr. Solo.”  
Oddjob signaled the military trucks and jeeps standing by. Thrush’s men were all dressed up to look exactly like the fallen troops except they all had gas masks on. Seeing Oddjob’s signal, the men started their engines and moved out. Oddjob, handcuffed to Solo, handed him a gas mask and both put them on before getting into the back of a truck that also moved out.  
The trucks found the streets around Fort Knox eerily quiet, many of the vehicles were stopped and the driver’s laying down on the ground. Solo saw the men around the military barracks all laid out along the field. They passed a government car pulled over to the side of the road; all occupants were quiet, even U.N.C.L.E. Agent Felix Lieder as one of the occupants.  
Eventually Thrush made their way up Gold Vault Road to the gate of Fort Knox. One man left the lead jeep with a small box containing a spectrometer. The meter showed the gas had dissipated and he whistled the ‘all clear’. Everyone took off their masks. Oddjob motioned to Solo to do the same.

The Thrush in the lead truck took out a long tube of explosives which they rigged to a plunger. The Task Force Commander gave the signal and the gate and surrounding fence exploded. Quickly they brought up a special truck disguised as an ambulance. Using a control panel on the outside, the Commander removed the roof of the truck, exposing a rising platform that Solo soon recognized as a giant laser – exactly like the one he had a close experience with earlier. The truck backed up so that the laser aimed at the main vault door. Upon command, the laser began to cut a border around the door and they soon had it pulled down and out of the way.

Solo watched as another truck advanced. Overhead he could hear a helicopter coming in close and land next to them. To his surprise he saw Goldfinger inside along with Kuryakin as pilot. Goldfinger jumped out, victory making him jaunty. His ‘Southern Gentleman’ attire was impeccable down to the gold trim. He graciously tipped his Panama Hat in theatrical drama of an entrance worthy of King Henry himself.  
“Good morning Mr. Solo. For once you are exactly where I want you.” Napoleon looked over at Illya, but he gave no sign of recognition. He saw Mr. Ling, the Chinese expert, exit the copter and help a team of Thrush remove a long box from its side. Chained to Oddjob, Solo followed the box into the main loading bay of the Vault. He could only helplessly watch as the expert opened the box revealing the atomic bomb. The expert quickly inserted the timing device and Goldfinger signaled the team to open the Vault.  
Slowly a heavy, steel door several feet thick opened, revealing a metal platform inside. At the same time Mr. Ling set the timer in motion. It showed **357** , then **356** , and continued dropping. 

Outside the Fort Knox compound, an alarm went off within one of the government cars. Agent Lieder suddenly sat up and said to his fellow agents, “The bomb’s here and activated. Let’s get moving Brigadier.”  
“Right.” The general quickly moved to a radio inside the car and began giving orders. All of the military men on the side of the road suddenly sat up and gathered their weapons. They could hear the general’s message, “To all commando’s, minimal offensive fire until I signal the bomb has been neutralized. The bomb disposal unit move out now to accompany the task force.”

Inside the Vault, several Thrush pushed the cart holding the bomb on to the narrow corridor and on an elevator platform. Oddjob, with Solo still handcuffed to him, moved in behind the cart. Solo couldn’t help himself but stare at the depth of the Vault and the rows upon rows upon rows of gold bullion laid out below him. “Look at it Solo.” Goldfinger gloated. “Gold as far as the eye can see. And all mine! Mine! Hah!”

Carefully the Thrush Taskforce Commander removed Oddjob’s handcuff and locked Solo to the cart holding the bomb. The Commander then put the key in his shirt pocket. The American got a jolt in the pit of his stomach as he realized he was now attached to the bomb.

“Goodbye Mr. Solo,” the gold fanatic laughed. His grand plan finally realized; his bold announcement was mad with triumph. The master planner then sent the elevator down, four levels, to the floor of the Vault with Solo and the bomb on it. Seeing all was well, Goldfinger left the vault.  
Solo could see the bomb timer said **255** as he stretched his arm trying desperately to reach the controls, but his handcuffs prevented him.

**********

On the loading dock, Goldfinger checked his watch as he gave last instructions to Mr. Ling, not noticing that several of his elite task force outside were being overtaken by the now active U.S. military. Suddenly gun shots were heard. Surprised, Goldfinger saw several of his force fall in the middle of a growing gun battle. Quickly he ran up some stairs on the side of the dock to the Vault controls. Within seconds he had the door closing to the Vault.  
Still inside the Vault, the Taskforce Commander noticed the door closing. Knowing that it meant certain death if he was caught inside, he ran for the exit only to be caught by Oddjob and pulled back.

Outside Goldfinger quickly slipped his linen coat off revealing a U.S. Military General’s uniform underneath. The disguise helping him to blend in with the now winning U.S. forces.

Outside the helicopter cockpit was empty, Kuryakin had slipped out as soon as the shooting started. 

Goldfinger had his golden gun in his hand as he entered into the gun battle still going on in the loading dock. To solidify his disguise, he shot the Chinese expert, Mr. Ling and yelled to oncoming armed forces, “I got one of them. Hurry!” Overwhelmed by the battle, Goldfinger was forced back to one of the side rooms to avoid being shot but not before he glimpsed the copter still sitting outside unharmed, but no pilot.

**********

Inside the vault, Solo still struggled to reach the timer. Upstairs the Thrush Commander turned on Oddjob. “We’re trapped! The bomb, I must take the fuse out.” He ran for the elevator only to have Oddjob stop him. The Commander yelled in panic, “Don’t be a fool. You can be a hero but I’m not.” He made a break for it only to have Oddjob pick him up and fling him over the rail to fall to the floor below. Solo looked up at the commotion and saw the fall. He saw the Commander land just a few feet away but he also remembered the key sitting in the man’s shirt pocket. Quickly, desperately, he began to wiggle the cart closer to the now dead Thrush and the key. Oddjob, above, saw Solo and knew instantly what he was trying to do. Quickly Goldfinger’s loyal servant made for the stairs and the race was on. Solo jerking and shaking the cart closer as Oddjob ran down one flight of stairs after another. Two levels away, he saw Solo reach the shirt pocket and the key. He hurried on. Nether man noticed the Vault door above open.

Oddjob only had eyes for Solo as he saw that the agent now had the key. Still too far away the manservant took off his hat and, as Solo glanced up to see the danger, he threw it. The hat made a sound as it passed nearby but Solo ducked his head just in time. Seeing he was unsuccessful, Oddjob jumped the rail and lunged at Solo. Just then the key turned and unlocked the cuffs. Free, Solo tried to spin the bomb between them both. Goldfinger’s servant regained his hat and took aim. Solo ran for a back corner near some power cables. Again, the hat narrowly missed the agent but it neatly sliced the cables in two, sending sparks flying.

Solo picked up a brick of the bullion, using two hands to lift it. He threw it but it merely bounced off the chest of the Korean. The timer said **214**. The agent leaped for the killer and was easily slammed into a nearby wall. Out of the corner of his eye, Solo was shocked to see Kuryakin’s stealthy approach to the cart with the bomb and quickly begin to take it apart. Now he needed to not only take out the Korean but he must not let Oddjob see Illya and stop him.

He quickly picked up a lead pipe and swung it at the huge man. Oddjob ducked and then easily karate chopped the pipe in two. Using the piece that was left, the U.N.C.L.E. agent slammed it directly at his opponent’s face – hardly fazing him. Oddjob then threw him against another wall. If Solo didn’t hurt so much, he would feel pleased that the toss had taken them further away from the bomb and any view of Kuryakin. The blonde was bent over the crate, still working to dismantle the bomb.

Topside the battle was fierce and there was no opportunity for Goldfinger to safely reach his escape copter much less find his pilot.

**********

Back in the Vault, the timer read **147**. Kuryakin worked feverishly but there was a set dismantle procedure and one could not skip any parts if one did not want to blow up. It didn’t help his concentration to hear Solo groan and bounce off walls but he couldn’t let himself be distracted let alone go help.  
Solo was tossed back towards the power cables. Unfortunately, it was then that Oddjob caught sight of Kuryakin. Stunned, the manservant stopped his approach, turning between the two men almost as if he was trying to make up his mind which threat should take precedent. Callously, the timer now read **106**.  
Just as Oddjob turned with an evil smile to Kuryakin, his attention was grabbed by Solo. “Oh no you don’t my fine feathered friend. Don’t leave me now.”

Kuryakin hastily glanced up and saw the Korean’s deadly approach. “Peachy. Now is not a good time to lose your hold on people, Napoleon.”

“Quit complaining, I’ll soon have my way with him once again.” The agent had discovered the manservant’s hat and was shaking it in front of the Korean as a matador’s cape to a bull. The ruse worked. Oddjob crouched, wary of the weapon Solo was flaunting, forgetting Kuryakin for the moment. He stepped sideways trying to put some distance between himself and the hat.  
Oddjob suddenly lunged and Solo had to dodge, tripping into the crouching Kuryakin to miss his head being crushed. “You Oaf,” complained Kuryakin. “I’m only trying to disarm a bomb here.”

“Excuse me. How clumsy of me to intrude. Pardon my manners.”  
“What manners. I have yet to get any impression that you had them.”  
“Oh my good man. In some corners of the world I’m considered quite elegant.”  
“Only in the corners?”  
Solo winced, “Illya. Be reasonable. I’m dancing here with a 2-ton Korean intent on pulverizing me.”  
“And that is just the time I need him to be preoccupied.”  
“Oh my sainted mother. To have to listen to such ill wishes upon my health. And here I thought you liked me.”  
Illya paused, “Good Lord, whatever gave you that impression?”  
“Please Mr. Kuryakin, eyes on the bomb if you will.”  
“Oh yes. My apologies.” The Russian returned to his work. The timer read **073**. 

Every time Oddjob tried to make a lunge for Illya, Napoleon used the hat to back the man up. Illya never looked up seemingly oblivious of the pending threat to himself. Solo saw Oddjob tense for another attempt at Illya, working so diligently over the bomb. He had to stop him so he threw the hat hoping his aim was lucky. As disaster would have it, the hat clunked metal on metal, into the steel bars surrounding some of the bullion and lodged there. Oddjob gave a big grin and turned to grab the hat. Just before he reached it, Napoleon saw Oddjob glance over at Kuryakin. The blonde’s back was to the Korean – a perfect target. Oddjob smiled with sinister intent and reached for the hat.

Napoleon lunged for the exposed power cables and used them to touch the steel bars just as Oddjob touched his metal hat. The affect was tremendous as the man was electrocuted in a shower of sparks and fire. The yell was echoed throughout the Vault. Oddjob fell to the floor, quite dead. 

Napoleon spared no more thought to the killer as he rushed to the Russian’s side. Illya didn’t even look up as Napoleon saw the timer read **039**. He had most of the pieces apart or dismantled, sweat dappling his face as Napoleon was sure his own was. The agent was impressed at how steady Illya’s hands were as he removed a wheel tight within the workings of the device. They both could hear the fighting enter the Vault’s bridge overhead. Illya never flinched as someone fell over the railing above and landed close by. The timer read **018**. Illya removed the last of the screws and pulled out the tiny timer box. The device went silent. Only then did Illya slump down leaning with his back against the now dismantled bomb. Napoleon saw that the timer was frozen at **007**.  
He turned and sat down next to Illya and said, “Cut it rather close didn’t you, old man?”  
Illya sighed and rolled his eyes, setting the timer down on the floor between them. “How was I to know you would be so miserable at your job?”  
“We do work well together though, don’t we?” Napoleon grinned enjoying the jest, and then pleased at the result as he saw Illya give an answering grin back. “Fate, it seems, draws us back together.”

**********

The fighting upstairs was becoming fierce and had moved onto the walkway high above. Both men ducked and separated as one of the Thrush soldiers aimed a few shots down at them. Napoleon soon saw Felix and a few other U.N.C.L.E. agents arrive down on the ground floor and approach the bomb to see its status.  
Felix looked up, “Hey Napoleon are you okay?”  
“Yes, I think so.” Solo brushed himself off as he glanced around looking for Kuryakin.  
“What happened to your butler friend?” Felix asked pointing to Goldfinger’s fried henchman.  
Napoleon smiled at his friend, “Oh he blew a fuse.” Pointing out the timer’s count he remarked, “A few more ticks and Mr. Goldfinger would have hit the jackpot.”

One of the agents picked up the timer and showed it to Felix, “Whew! Nice job Napoleon.”  
“Sorry to disappoint you Felix, but this wasn’t a solo job.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Kuryakin dismantled the bomb.” Worried, Napoleon led the group to the stairs. “Did you get Goldfinger?”  
“Not yet but he won’t get far.”  
“And Kuryakin?”

“Let me check.” Felix was quickly on radio contact with the U.N.C.L.E. team above. “I just got word Goldfinger escaped in the helicopter. Kuryakin was the pilot.”

Felix pulled the agent aside, “Napoleon, tell me what’s going on? First Kuryakin, through Soviet channels, sent us information on what Goldfinger’s plan was. Then last night, he helped us switch the gas in the canisters. Then we see him deliver the bomb with his boss. He then risks everything by dismantling it, only to fly out and escape with the Master Criminal himself. What gives? Whose side is he on anyway?”  
“Maybe his own,” Napoleon mused.  
“What I don’t get is what made him contact us in the first place?”  
Solo sighed distractedly “He has strong survival instincts.”

**********


	12. Chapter 12

#### Act XII – _“Oh no you don’t. This is no time to be rescued.”_

The U.N.C.L.E. agents pulled up to a waiting private jet with the American Flag on its wing.  
Felix prodded, “Come on Napoleon, get aboard. You can’t keep the President waiting.”  
“A special plane, lunch at the White House – how come?”  
Felix shrugged, “The President wants to thank you personally. U.N.C.L.E. got a special communication with the order.”  
“Ah. It was nothing really.” Napoleon boasted, playing along.  
Felix laughed, “I know that but the President doesn’t. Mr. Waverly said not to take too long, he has a new assignment for you.”  
Napoleon sighed distractedly but he couldn’t stop wondering where Illya was and how much trouble he was in. He was worried at the health of his new, now missing, friend. “I suppose I’ll be able to get a drink on board?”  
“I told the stewardess liquor for three.”  
“For three? Who are the other two?”  
Laughing, Felix said, “Oh there are no other two.”  
Napoleon grinned, “Good bye Felix.”  
“So long Napoleon.”

Soon after Solo entered, the plane taxied and took off. Once airborne, he undid his seat belt and pressed the ‘call’ button. With barely hidden rage, the Pilot’s cabin door was yanked opened by none other than Goldfinger himself, looking very cross as he entered the main cabin. He had Kisch behind him, also looking decidedly murderous.

Back on the ground hidden from everyone, the official flight crew was tied up in an empty hanger.

“I’m very glad to have you aboard, Mr. Solo.” Goldfinger could hardly control the dripping hatred.  
Stunned, Solo quickly recovered, hiding a sinking feeling. “Well congratulations to you Goldfinger on eluding the authorities. Are you having lunch at the White House too?”

Goldfinger, however, was not in the mood to joke, “In two hours I shall be in Cuba. You have interfered in my plans for the last time, my dear Mr. Solo.” He aimed his golden revolver directly at the agent’s heart.  
“It’s very dangerous to fire guns in planes. Illya even had to warn Mai Li about it. Eh, by the way where is Mr. Kuryakin?”  
An evil look came over Goldfinger’s pasty face. “Come and see for yourself Mr. Solo.”

As the door to the mid-plane compartment was opened, what Napoleon saw froze him in horror. Illya was laid out before him. His naked body was painted in pure gold; from his toes up to his chin. Every inch of skin was golden with the light shimmering off the shiny continence of his skin. Everything from Illya’s bare feet and legs, to his torso, both front and back was covered in the thick golden paint. Only his face was unmarred with the gloss and that was pulled tight in distress. His arms bound behind his back, the man was withering in agony, panting for the release of heat that his skin could no longer deliver. Illya was suffocating and overheating before his eyes and it was clear from his grey, sweat soaked face that he would not last much longer. He was beautiful and horrible at the same time as he withered at their feet.

“What have you done to him?” Napoleon could barely gasp.  
“He must pay for his treason.” Goldfinger barked coldly but still with the odd proud ownership of property.  
Goldfinger leaned over, grabbed and held the golden man’s chin, “You must pay, isn’t that right my pet. It will be the death of you.”  
Kuryakin defiantly jerked free with his last ounce of energy. Only to be slapped in the face. It was apparent that it was only the most recent of what looked to have been a thorough beating.  
The blonde shuddered as he was on a losing battle with his strength – the effects of severe oxygen depravation and pain. His neck stretched, gasping for air.

Napoleon was soon tied up and tossed beside Illya. “You will soon know the depth of my revenge as you watch what betrayal has brought to your friend. I’m sure Thrush will be very pleased to aid me in a more personal revenge waiting for you in Cuba. Watch him and learn of my power, Mr. Solo.”  
Kisch went forward to pilot the plane and Goldfinger retired to the back to confirm his plans for re-location.

**********

Locked in the cabin and left to watch helplessly as his friend, and confirmed ally, lay dying in agony. “Illya how….?”  
The Russian moaned, gasping for breath. He barely whispered, “Not so … so lucky … as you…..”  
“Damn it, why did you have to go back and try to capture him?”  
“My…. my duty….” Illya could say no more as his body struggled for air. Trembling, his face waxed grey.  
Napoleon didn’t miss the rising panic in the blue eyes. “Hold on.”

Quickly Napoleon used his watch to spring out a small knife and cut his ropes. Released he moved over to Illya and cut his bindings as well. He wasn’t sure how to save him but it was clear that the Russian was in too much distress and too weak to offer ideas. The naked man withered in golden agony in front of him, clawing at his throat desperately.

Napoleon quickly went over to the liquor cabinet and removed several bottles. He wasn’t sure which but surely one of them would be corrosive enough to remove the paint. They sure seemed to burn his throat often enough. Quickly he opened and spilled different liquids over the golden skin. Illya’s body was barely still enough to get a good grip as he used the ripped cloth of his own shirt to wipe at Illya’s skin.

Frustrated, and several bottles later, Illya seemed about to black out, his lips turning blue. Suddenly one clear liquid seemed to fade the gold on Illya’s arm where applied. Napoleon looked and ironically it was Vodka. He had often thought it was really paint thinner in disguise. Quickly he pulled Illya into his lap and began to pour and rub the Russian’s chest and throat in earnest. As he worked fast removing much of the paint, it seemed that the blonde was getting his breath back. Quickly turning him over, Napoleon began to scrub the muscular back and then down each leg with Vodka.  
By the time he was finished, Illya was wet, dripping, and smelling like a brewery, but he was finally quiet and breathing deeply. Weak as a kitten, he could only look on quietly as Napoleon finished up as best he could.  
Napoleon found a simple loose-fitting flight suit and gently pulled it over Illya’s rubbed-raw, badly-bruised body. Slowly he helped him to a sitting position, keeping his hands on him until he stabilized. They both knew that they still had a job to do. Solo only half-joked, “Do you have any ideas, master spy, on how we can turn this situation around?”  
“How can I have ideas? I’m dead.” Illya croaked, his strength all but gone. Wordlessly, they both locked eyes. Communicating instantly gratitude, relief, and as reckless gamblers that won one more round against death. And gamblers that were about to rush willingly into another round against death.  
Dead or alive they each went to their own task. Illya wobbled up front to take control of the plane, taking the last unopened bottle of Vodka with him to get out irritating spots of paint Napoleon had missed.  
Napoleon to the back to find Goldfinger, his mind black with rage.

**********

Kisch, in the pilot’s seat, growled when he saw his nemesis free. Furious, he rose up to attack. Illya sighed as he didn’t have the strength nor interest in fighting this brute who had made his life miserable. So, he simply hit him over the head with the last bottle of Vodka and pushed the body aside. “Vodka – useful for many things.”  
Sitting in the pilot’s seat he leaned around to check out the instruments and noticed they were over water – somewhere in the Caribbean perhaps? He hoped Napoleon fared as well, as Illya could barely find the energy to pilot them back to land. 

Goldfinger had his golden gun aimed directly at Solo, his face insane with barely suppressed wrath. “So you got free. But by the look on your face, I presume my little Russian pet did not survive or you left him behind. No one betrays Auric Goldfinger. They must suffer the consequences. They all must suffer!”  
Napoleon made a grab for the gun. They both fought for control. All the fury from what this mad man had put them through, seeing Illya painted in gold and slowly suffocating – came into each of Napoleon’s punches as he began to overpower the bigger man. Disaster struck as the gun suddenly went off, smashing out one of the jet’s windows.

Immediately the air was sucked out of the plane with such force that everything not bolted down was jammed out the broken window. Papers, dishware, linens; the force was horrifying. Both men struggled to maintain a hand-hold on the bolted seats as the jet took a steep dive. Goldfinger screamed as he shot past Solo feet first. His body smashed into the window, momentarily plugging it. The power of the suction soon overcame the size of the plug and his body was sucked out the window with unbelievable force.

As the plane fell, the air pressure equalized but the dive remained terrifyingly steep. Napoleon could hear the jet engines whine with the struggle. Quickly he made his way to the cockpit where he saw Illya struggle at the controls. Illya’s face showed the strain of the effort for strength he just didn’t have.  
“Illya?  
The Russian’s look was grim. “What happened? Where’s Goldfinger?”  
“Playing his golden harp.” Napoleon helped by grabbing the co-pilot’s wheel and tried to add his strength.  
Shaking his head, Illya shouted, “It’s no good. Go on, get out of here!”  
The plane shook in a terrible death throe.

**********

Back at the airport the U.N.C.L.E. agents found the flight crew and released them. Rushing to the control tower, Felix and the others were told that the jet was in a free fall and was near impact. They all watched stunned as the radar showed the plane falling from the sky. Suddenly they saw the single light on the screen split into two lights. Then they saw one of the lights crash into the sea. 

The island was a paradise. Soft rolling beaches, lush vegetation and palm trees, one of many beautiful spots lying about the Caribbean Seas. Overhead a helicopter with Felix and another agent searched for any sign of survivors. 

Illya stood up and waved, but Napoleon caught him by the waist and pulled him back down to the ground.  
“Oh no you don’t. This is no time to be rescued. There is a five-star resort just over the hill and I have no intention of going home before I get a chance to meet one of the lovely ladies I sighted.”  
Napoleon held his hand out to Illya, “Will you join me? Partner?”

Illya looked up and smiled as he took that hand. “I believe I will, Partner.”

The two could be seen walking, one of them discussing the merits of a certain international peace-keeping organization.  
“Would I get my own special car?”  
“No!”  
A frown flitted across Illya’s face.  
“At least not right away.”

**********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: The 1964 movie ‘Goldfinger’ was arguably the best of the entire lot of James Bond films. It was in this movie that the name ‘Solo’ was first used and contributed to the naming of Kuryakin’s famous partner.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback and/or hot tips are appreciated


End file.
